His Holt World
by RSteele82
Summary: (Canon Series) With Gabriel Castoro's murderous crime spree at an end, will the Steele's finally find peace, at long last? An unexpected crisis makes Laura question the future and when a person from the past arrives unexpectedly, the waters are further roiled.
1. Chapter 1: Early Arrival

_**The Canon Series**_

 _ **In this continuation of Expanding Steele, Gabriel Castoro is, at long last, behind bars. The Steele's begin picking up the pieces of their lives after Castoro's attempt to destroy them: welcoming their second child, moving into their new home, and working towards making Sophie a permanent member of their family. Will it be smooth sailing, at last? A crisis that could not be predicted makes Laura question the future and a person from the past arrives further roiling the waters.**_

 _ **For the most effective reading, my work should be read in chronological order as many of my one off's are spun into the history of the characters later on down the line. The chronological order of what I've written to date are as follows:**_

 _ **Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On**_  
 _ **Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)  
Steele Forsaken**_  
 _ **Steele Mending**_  
 _ **Steele Working out the Details**_  
 _ **Steele Settling In**_  
 _ **Steele Finding Comfort**_  
 _ **Steele Holting on To Christmas**_  
 _ **Steele Holting on To The Holidays**_  
 _ **Holting on to the Moments**_  
 _ **Steele Cold Relief**_  
 _ **Steele Cloned**_  
 _ **Steele Hurdling Obstacles**_  
 _ **Steeling the Big Apple**_  
 _ **Steele Dying to Get it Right**_  
 _ **Holting Steele - Part 1 of the Be Steele My Heart series**_  
 _ **Be Steele My Heart – Part 2 of the Be Steele My Heart series**_  
 _ **Steele Pursued – Part 1 of the Steele Tested series  
Steele Tested – Part 2 of the Steele Tested series  
Steele Thankful  
Down the Rabbit Holt  
Steele in Wonderland  
Expanding Steele – Part 1 of the His Holt World Series  
His Holt World – Part 2 of the His Holt World Series**_

 _ **Standard Disclaimers apply: I hold no ownership or rights to the series or characters. I simply choose to borrow the characters I love to write.**_

* * *

Chapter 1: Early Arrival

It had been a trying three weeks for the Steele family, to say the least. Clarissa Jensen, former client and the woman Remington had once tried to marry to avoid deportation, murdered. Her three-year-old daughter, Sophia, delivered into Laura and Remington's safekeeping. Sophia's father, Gabriel Castoro, Deputy Chief of the LAPD, not only a dirty cop, but a man who had been running a criminal empire for years… and the man who'd put out a hit on the mother of his child. Jill, one of Clarissa's closest confidents, and also secretly Castoro's lover, turned murderess… then murder victim. A hit, taken out by Castoro, on their own family, forcing Laura to take the children into hiding.

Then, another assault on the Steele's: This time in their home, where Remington currently resided without his family, with only Murphy Michaels to keep him company.

But this time, Laura could only watch the aftermath play out from afar, thanks to Windsor Thomas and the regular special reports broadcast live from the station back in LA. Broadcasts which failed to provide any of the pertinent details, only disturbingly vague ones: a barrage of gunfire, two men with life threatening injuries, one of whom died in surgery.

In the meantime, Remington's mobile phone went unanswered, as did the house phone and car phone when she chanced calling them. A call for help had been finally placed to Monroe Henderson, close family friend and Remington's business partner. When he was unable to obtain any information about the occupants within the Holmby Hills home, he'd announced he'd be going to the warehouse serving as command center for the Castoro investigation.

It had all been too much for a woman who'd sat at her husband's bedside not even four years before, after he'd nearly lost his life protecting Laura and their unborn child from the murderous intentions of Anna Simpson.

"We must believe all will be well," Thomas, Remington's father, insisted. For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself the comfort of his embrace, even as she shook her head against his chest.

"Will it?" she asked forlornly, tipping back her head to look at him, her eyes reflecting every ounce of the fear rollicking through her small frame. She pulled free of his embrace, then thought to add…

"My water just broke."

The room erupted around the pair. Catherine sprang up from the couch, fingertips pressed to mouth to stifle her gasp. Dozer launched from his chair, thoroughly panicked, eyes darting around the room as though looking for the quickest escape route. Tank snatched the mobile phone from coffee table where it lay, quickly punching in Monroe's number. And, in the meantime, Thomas focused on his daughter-in-law before him.

"Are you certain?" he queried, calmly. While he hadn't the honor of being present at his son's birth, and had been rendered unable to father again after a chance illness, he was often present for the foalings at his beloved breeding farm in England. Birth was not an act of nature that rattled this man, he rather relished the new beginnings. With a heavy sigh, Laura looked away, and gave a sharp nod of her head.

"Yes."

"It appears a visit to the closest emergency ward is in order, then," he observed. "Dozer, if you'll be so kind as to fetch Miss Young so she might direct us to nearest hospital, then assist Catherine with watching over the children?" As Dozer gladly left the cabin, Thomas turned to give Tank a directive, then held his silence as the other man spoke on the phone.

"Yes, sir, that's what Mrs. Steele said, alright… No, I'm sure… You best be joking, Monroe. I don't know nothing about birthing no babies… Yeah, not funny man…"

" _Gone with the Wind_ ," Laura muttered aloud, to herself. "Clark Gable, Vivien Leigh, Warner Brothers, 1939." Catherine shook her head at the comment.

"Laura, I don't believe this is the best of times to be watching a movie," she suggested. Laura flicked a hand in dismissal.

"'I don't know nothing about birthing babies,'" she answered, absently. "Prissy to Scarlett. People often get it wrong, saying 'I don't know nothing about no birthing babies'." Catherine's eyes widened, and again she lifted her hand, this time to lay it against her cheek.

"Thomas, I think the strain of all this has been too much for her," she worried. Thomas chuckled, softly.

"All is well, Catherine. In truth, it is a true sign she's my son's wife, quoting movies much as he does," he reassured, then returned his attention to Laura, placing a hand on her arm. "Perhaps it would be best if we get you into the car." She shook his arm off, and paced away.

"I'm not going to the hospital-"

"Laura, my dear, I think it would be best—" Thomas tried again, only to be cut off.

"I'm not having this baby unless Remington's there," she told him, adamantly, underscoring the point by throwing out her arms and shaking her head. A smile quirked at Thomas's lips. He'd seen this stubborn streak of hers when it came to his son as Remington had laid in the ICU after being shot.

"I understand your reticence," he commiserated, "But perhaps you might ask yourself what my son would want for you and his child?" Turning around, she gave her father-in-law a dolorous look. If in her quote of _Gone with the Wind_ she'd shown herself to be Remington's wife, Thomas had certainly just proven himself to be his son's father with such a suggestion.

"I need to change first," she relented.

Ten minutes later, with Billie ensconced in the cabin with Catherine, Tank and the girls, and a nervous Dozer at the wheel of her SUV, they were speeding in the direction of the nearest hospital.


	2. Chapter 2: Debriefing

Chapter 2: Debriefing

"The doorbell rang. We assumed it was Westfield coming by to brief us on the outcome of the operation," Murphy recounted, wearily. He'd been answering and reanswering questions for nearly two hours… _after_ he'd been escorted by two State Troopers back to operation headquarters, located in a warehouse across town from the Steele's Holmby Hills home. "Steele stepped out of the room to answer the door."

"Could you see the door from where you were?" Thibodeaux inquired. Murphy gave the man an exasperated look and leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his bandaged upper arm.

"No," he answered, his frustration evident in his voice. "As I've already told you, the door was not in my line of sight."

"Continue," Thibodeaux prompted.

"Look," Murphy began, clearly having reached his limit, leaning forward and fixing Thibodeaux with a narrowed gaze, "We've already been through this twice. Now how about some answers instead of more of the same questions, huh? How was it you appeared at Steele's?"

"We'll get to that," the man answered vaguely, "Once we go through this one last time. What happened next?" Murphy flopped back in his chair, glaring at the man.

"Steele tipped me off it wasn't Westfield at the front door, but Castoro and armed 'guests.' I took cover in the kitchen, thinking I'd call 9-1-1. Then I realized that wasn't even an option, leaving me no choice but to try and come up with a game plan on how to get Steele outta there. I didn't have much of a chance, though. Castoro sent one of his goons to search the house, and I had a choice: take a shot and risk the other goon shooting Steele, or to go willingly."

"Surrendering your weapon," Thibodeaux noted. Murphy glowered at the man now.

"Yes."

"Never having fired it," the cop pressed.

Murphy opened his mouth to answer with a blistering retort, but never had the opportunity as he and Thibodeux turned their head towards the sound of scuffling in a nearby office. A door slammed against a wall of Remington stormed out, shouting back over his shoulder.

"You'll have to arrest me, if you intend to keep me here! I should have been with my family more than an hour back, and if Laura doesn't hear from me soon, you can bloody well bet she'll come looking, regardless of the time or her condition!" His eyes met Murphy's. "Coming?" Murphy stood grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Right behind you, pal," he agreed, heatedly. Thibodeaux placed himself bodily between the pair and the door, holding up his hands, palms facing them.

"Ten minutes, it's all I ask." The police officer was visibly relieved when the very door Murphy and Remington were heading for opened, and William Westfield walked through, then all three men registered looks of surprise when Monroe walked in behind the man, looking more than a bit put out himself.

"Interviews finished?" Westfield asked Thibodeaux.

"Yes, sir," he confirmed.

"Good. Answer any questions Michaels has then get him booked into a hotel for the night, while the SBI finishes processing the Steele's house," Westfield instructed. "I'll take care of filling in Steele on the way to the heliport."

"Michaels can stay at our condo on Wilshire," Remington stepped in. "Monroe can get him there easily enough. But whatever you've in mind for me, the only place I'm going is to see my family." Westfield stepped aside and looked at Monroe.

"Mr. Henderson, I think it would be for the best if you filled Mr. Steele in." The little hairs on the back of Remington's neck stood at attention. He'd been battling back his escalating concern for the past hour. If Laura had attempted to make it back to LA when he hadn't arrived and anything had…

"What is it? Is it, Laura?" he demanded to know.

"It would seem, mon ami, provincial though Twin Pines may be, it is not quite as 'off the grid' as you believed it to be," Monroe provided, then with a lift of his brows added, "At least not as it pertains to the local news." Remington's eyes widened and he lifted a hand to rub at his mouth as he caught Monroe's meaning.

"Oh, God. Tell me she hasn't taken upon herself to come here." Monroe stepped to him and lay a hand on his shoulder.

"She stayed as you wished, old friend—" Remington spun away from him, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Thank, God," he breathed in relief, then strode towards a desk and the phone upon it.

"Mick, there is more," Monroe forewarned. Remington's hand stilled, and was left hovering over the phone as his heart sunk to his toes. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels when he turned to face his friend again.

"What's happened?" he grounded out past lips and mouth suddenly gone dry.

"As I was explaining to Mr. Westfield whilst he provided me passage past the guards outside, it would seem the shenanigans here in LA were a bit much for our Laura," Monroe began, then added somberly, "She's gone into labor, Mick."

"That can't be," Remington rejected, even as he leaned heavily against the desk behind him. "The babe has weeks before she's due to arrive."

"Never the less, old friend, it is so." Remington, with all eyes in the room upon him, shook his head, as if a final attempt to deny what was happening, then suddenly was all motion.

"Keys, mate," he demanded, striding towards Monroe, hand outstretched. "I need your—"

"I have a better solution in mind, if you're open to it," Westfield interrupted. "There's a helicopter waiting on my return to Sacramento. It's fueled and ready to go. All I have to do is call the pilot—"

"Then make the call," Remington cut in abruptly, before again turning and reaching for the phone on the desk behind him. Picking up the handset from the cradle, he dialed Laura's mobile phone. It rang several times then he was left frowning when the deep baritone voice of Tank came over the lines.

"If you're at the cabin, who's watching over Laura?" Remington asked without so much as a hello.

"Mr. Steele? Is that you?" came more questions instead of answers.

"Yes, yes," he answered impatiently. "Who's with my wife?"

"Dozer drove Mrs. Steele and your father to the hospital, sir."

"And the girls? Who's caring for them?" Remington demanded.

"Mrs. Fitzgerald and Miss Young are here with the little ones, sir. Ain't nothing going to happen to them girls on my watch, sir."

"I appreciate that, mate," he thanked the man. "Let me speak to Catherine, if you will." There was a rustling sound as the phone exchanged hands.

"Remington, is it really you? Are you well?" Catherine greeted anxiously.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he confirmed, "Although more than a bit concerned about what's happening there. Catherine, the girls? Have they woken at all? How was Laura when she left?"

"The girls are oblivious to all the happenings, I'm happy to say," she answered. "Laura is… frightened, and understandably so. She could get no word on your well-being and the announcements were horridly vague and disturbing. And now with the babe arriving so soon…"

"Catherine, call the hospital and have someone inform her I'm on my way. Can you do that for me?"

"The moment we release the line," she assured.

"Steele…" Remington looked up as Westfield called his name, and nodded at the man.

"One more thing. Olivia will wake looking for me in the morn," he informed his stepmother. "Can you assure her Da will be there as soon as he can and may even have a wonderful surprise for her?"

"Of course, I will. Don't worry about anything here, Remington. We'll be fine. You see to Laura."

"I will. And thank you, Catherine."

Hanging up the phone, he followed Westfield out the door.


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome to the World

Chapter 3: Welcome to the World

Thomas stepped into Laura's room, relief painting his countenance. The call from Catherine had felt like another reprieve – or, perhaps, fate choosing to give he and his son time together to make up for all that had been stolen. Crossing, the room to Laura's bed, he took her hand in his.

"Catherine has spoken to Monroe," he began, as Laura rolled from her side to stare up at him. "Remington's whole and well and on his way here as we speak." She drew in a slow breath, and pressed the back of a hand against her forehead as she blinked her eyes rapidly and nodded her head.

He was safe, and would be here. And as much as she hated to admit it, she needed him.

The doctor had seemed unconcerned with her early labor, even though she'd be having the baby nearly three weeks prior to its due date. A stat ultrasound had shown the baby to be of good size, and its lungs well developed. The physician had even remarked the pre-term labor might be a blessing in disguise, given her small build, as by his measurements he'd estimated the baby would have arrived at around ten pounds full-term.

She might have taken more comfort in his words if he wasn't nearly a decade younger than she and didn't resemble Howdy Doody, whom she'd never cared for.

"Thank you," she finally answered Thomas, realizing she'd never spoken.

"I'll just wait here with you, until he arrives," he offered.

"Thank you," she repeated then turned back to her side, her eyes on the monitor, to wait for Remington to arrive.

* * *

Remington stared out the helicopter's window at the ink black sky and the darkened landscape below as he worried a thumbnail with his teeth. _It's too early._ The words had been a mantra in his head when his thoughts weren't consumed with what Laura might be going through alone.

Olivia's labor had been… difficult… on Laura. She'd opted not to use drugs to dull the pain of the contractions, and as though it had happened only yesterday, he could still recall how she'd turned to him when it had become too painful for her to hide from… turned to him for comfort, to ease her pain.

* * *

" _ **It hurts, Remington. It really hurts."**_

* * *

She'd been frightened. What would she be now, with the babe arriving too early?

When his heart caught in his chest at the thought, he realized he needed to get his mind off things or he'd be driven bloody well mad.

"How long until our home is cleared?" he called to Westfield through the headphones they were wearing.

"By mid-afternoon tomorrow, I hope," Westfield replied. "Given the circumstances, I'll do what I can to move them along."

"Farrell and Hopkins?" Now seemed as good a time as any to extract information he and Murphy had been refused while they were being 'interviewed' by Thibodeaux and his men.

"Farrell didn't make it through surgery. Hopkins is critical, but stable, and under guard in SICU," William answered turning to look at him. "Before you ask, Castoro should be enjoying the hospitality of the Sacramento PD by now. We didn't want to risk any men he has remaining in the LAPD slipping him a key."

"Bail?" The last thing Remington and Laura needed, in his opinion, was for Castoro to be set loose on the streets of LA while awaiting trial.

"Given the charges we'll be bringing and the risk of flight, I'll be requesting remand until trial," William assured

"Now, would you mind telling me how Thibodeaux and his men happened to know Michaels and I were… entertaining… unwanted guests?" William gave him an apologetic look before he ever began to speak.

"Prophylactics," William called back. "After Castoro's second, unwanted visit to your home, Thibodeaux and I agreed electronic monitoring of your house was in line." Remington's jaw clenched at the news. "Our man monitoring the devices at Castoro's home and office, your home, reported the chatter at your place. Thibodeaux and his team were dispatched immediately." Remington shook his head and looked back out the window.

"You bugged our home, violated our privacy. Have you any idea how Laura will react to this news?" he demanded to know.

"I hope since those 'bugs' were responsible for getting you and Michaels out of there alive, not to mention provided what could be viewed as Castoro's confession to arranging two murders and the attempts on his own daughter's life and your family, that she'll be understanding." Castoro had, in fact done just that, by method of bragging, believing Murphy and Remington would take it to the graves he'd planned for them to be visiting very shortly. "It's good news for his kid, too." Remington turned to look at the other man.

"Oh, how so?" he bit out. "I'm not sure how discovering one day you were considered disposable by your own father would be classified as 'good news'."

"Given the attempt on his child's life, Castoro's parental rights will almost certainly be severed, making Sophia eligible for adoption," Westfield pointed out, matter-of-fact. "Social services can step in, find her a family. She's young. Chances are she won't remember any of this and in the right home—"

"Sophie already has a family and a home," Remington cut in, as the pilot indicated they'd be descending.

"You and Laura?" William asked, not trying to conceal his surprise at the news.

"If that is what Sophie wishes, yes." He craned his neck towards the window to watch the rapidly approaching asphalt of a parking lot below.

"She's three years old and you're giving her a choice in the matter?" Remington's brows drew together at the question, unseen by Westfield.

"She's a child, Westfield, not a puppy. It has to be what she wants, as well. We'll not impose it upon her." Westfield arched his brows at the answer, then whistled as the helicopter finally settled on the ground.

"Two three-year-olds and a newborn," he observed, as Remington removed his headphones, then swinging open the door, stepped out. "I wish you the best." Remington reached in a hand and exchanged handshakes with the man.

"Thank you." With those final words, he bent partially over to avoid the still twirling blades and ran towards Laura's rented Explorer, where Dozer awaited him in the driver's seat.

* * *

Laura's eyes shifted to the door of her hospital room as it swung open, then pushed herself into a sitting position, holding her arms open from the man who anxiously walked through it. Remington didn't hesitate, sitting on the side of the bed and gathering her close.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again, Mr. Steele," she admonished, in a strained voice, as she buried one hand in his hair while the fingers of her other hand clutched at his back.

"I'll do my level best, Mrs. Steele," he promised. "Can't say I particularly enjoyed this evening's entertainment, myself."

"How is Murph? He wasn't one—"

"Fine, fine," he assured. "Nothing more than a scratch on his arm." He leaned back and cupped her face in his hands. "Now, let me look at you." His eyes took in the fine lines on the outside of her eyes, the slightly gathered brows. "Headache?" The way her eyes skittered away from his confirmed the answer. "Contractions?"

"Four minutes apart, but not too bad yet."

"Epidural?" Her chin tipped up a notch, and her eyes returned to his.

"I'm not having one," she announced.

"Lau-ra," he drew out her name. "I thought we'd agreed risks are minimal and if means less—"

"I don't care how minimal the risks are," she cut him off, her jaw setting stubbornly. Then her shoulder's slumped and she shook her head, "The baby's coming too early, Remington. No matter how small the risks, they're too much."

"What did the doctor say? About the babe?"

"Three weeks isn't even considered pre-mature any longer, only late pre-term," she filled him in. "The ultra sound indicated the baby's weight and lungs are good." He dropped his head, trying to catch her gaze when her eyes skittered away again.

"That should be good news, hmmmm?" Laura's shoulders slumped, and her brows knitted in consternation, as she re-engaged eye contact.

"I don't… trust him," she huffed. Then grimaced as a contraction rolled over her. She grabbed his hands and held them in a steel-like vise, as she held her breath. He leaned forward to press his forehead against hers.

"Breathe, love, breathe through it." She turned quiet, introspective, while listening to his quiet words of encouragement. When her grip finally eased, he leaned back to look at her and tucked a strand of hair behind her hear. "Okay?"

"Okay," she confirmed, still a little breathles.

"Your doctor?" he tried to verify. At her long sigh, he quickly asked, "Why not?"

"Besides the fact he's a child who can't have been out of medical school for more than five minutes?" Remington turned his head and looked at his father for verification. Thomas gave him a look that indicated she wasn't wrong. Remington's attention returned to Laura.

"Good thing we've done this before, then, eh?" he tried to reassure. Standing, he held out his hand to his father, then embraced Thomas when he stood.

"Thank you, for staying with Laura, for all you've done this last week." Thomas patted his son on his back several times, then grasped his upper arms with his hands and leaned back to look at him.

"It's truly been an honor," he dismissed, then watched as Remington unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. "I believe I'll retire to the waiting room, where Granddad's belong." He walked over to Laura and bussed her on the head, then departed the room.

"Can you move down just a bit?" Remington requested, as he kicked off his shoes. Once she'd shifted, he climbed behind her on the bed. "Now, let's see what we can do about that headache, hmmm?" He eased her back to rest against his chest then sought her temples with his fingertips.

"Tell me," she quietly ordered. He didn't have to ask about what, and quietly relayed the evening's happenings for her, pausing as another contraction left her gasping, then resuming again.

"And the house?" Remington grimaced behind her. There had been a considerable bit of damage to the movie room and, on a much smaller scale, to their home office, as one might expect, between the exchange of gunfire and the rather physical apprehension of Castoro, which had, much to their irritation, required the dual efforts of Remington and Murphy.

"Repairable," he answered, hoping she wouldn't pursue the point, but, of course, it was not in her nature to leave it alone.

"How bad, Remington?" He sighed.

"Most of the furniture in the movie room will require replacement, the windows and their dressings…" He paused as he called up a mental image of the room as it had been left. "…The carpet, television, stereo in there, as well. Two walls will need to be patched and painted. Merely a computer monitor to be purchased and a clean up of paperwork in the office."

She deflated beneath his hands, her upset acute. They'd be taking their newborn child, their girls, home to what had once been their sanctuary, and now was the aftermath of a war that could have had disastrous results. The cost of stopping Castoro had been too high, in her opinion: their peace of mind, their safety, their time together, their belongings and now their home.

"They're just things, Laura," he reminded her quietly, as his hand moved to her shoulder and began seeking out the tension there.

"You think I don't know I should be saying, 'The only thing that matters is we're all safe,'" she argued, "Not to mention, I should be feeling that? I just…"

"Just what?" he prodded when she fell silent.

"I just wanted to _go home_ ," she finished resignedly.

"I know," he leaned forward, and whispered against her ear, before sitting back up and bussing the top of her head. She sighed heavily.

"I wanted to have the baby in LA, with Dr. Adams not Howdy Doody out there," she continued to lament. He coughed a laugh.

"That fond of him, are you?" She snorted a soft laugh. "I do have a bit of good news coming from Westfield."

"Oh?"

"He seems to believe the Court will choose to sever Castoro's parental rights when word of his criminal activities gets out." She smiled and reached up to give his hand a squeeze.

"Then maybe it's time we speak with Sophie…"

* * *

At one-oh-eight A.M. on February 16, 1991, Remington sat behind a sweat soaked Laura, lending his support as she gave one, last push and brought Holt Fitzgerald Steele into this world. His loud wails were like music to his parents' ears. Much as the ultrasound had predicted, he was born weighing it at eight pounds one ounce – quite the sturdy weight on a nineteen and three-quarter inches in length newborn.

Later, as they lay in bed together, he stroking her hair as she fed their son, he couldn't resist a small dig.

"Seems the infallible instincts of Laura Steele were off the mark this time, hmmmm?" She turned her head to look at him, a puzzled looked on her face.

"What do you mean?" A crooked grin lifted his lips.

"Seems the young doctor was quite competent, despite your concerns otherwise." She rolled her eyes at him, and returned her cheek to the pillow.

"He still looks like Howdy Doody," she retorted pertly.

His laughter filled the air, and his body shook from it, as he nuzzled his cheek against the back of her head.


	4. Chapter 4: Double Trouble

Chapter 4: Double Trouble

Remington drew a firm hand down Laura's arm then waited for her to rouse. She turned to her back, blinking up at him, blearily.

"I'm off to get the girls. I'll be back in a few hours, then we'll introduce our son to his sisters and grandparents, hmmmm?"

"Alright," she agreed with a nod. Leaning down, he gave her a lingering kiss that hinted at the feelings left unvoiced. She touched the tips of fingers on one hand to his cheek. "Get some sleep." She nodded, and with a final buss on her forehead, he departed.

* * *

"Da!" Olivia called, excitedly, when Remington walked through the door of his family's cabin. Racing past Billie, who watched from her seat on the couch, his little girl threw herself into his arms when he stooped down to catch her. He stood while holding her in his arms.

"Up buzzing about already are you, Livvie Bee?" he teased, then bussed her on the cheek. She leaned back in his arms, and pressed a palm to both his cheeks.

"I wakeded up and you weren't here," she pouted, prettily.

"Only because you insist on getting up before the birds," he answered. "If you'd sleep past sunrise, you'd have found me tucked snug in my bed." The thought stirred something in Olivia's memory and she frowned, much as her mother did when thinking.

"Where's Mommy?" Setting her down on her feet, he tapped the end of her nose with a fingertip.

"That, a stór, is part of your surprise this morning," he teased, then approached Sophie, stooping down before her.

"Good morning, Sophie Bird," he greeted. The little blonde giggled and grinned at him but kept her silence. "What do you say, a thaisce? Are you ready to do a bit a shopping, help with breakfast, then see what this surprise is about?" Sophie nodded eagerly, still grinning. Standing, he picked her up around the waist, holding her like a football under his arm, then spun on a heel and snatched up his raven haired daughter, slinging her under his arm in the same manner. The girls squealed with delighted laughter, kicking their feet, as he carried them into their bedroom. "Then let's get on with it, mo aingeal beag," he announced, dropping them to their feet. "Go pick yourselves out something to wear, and I'll be back in just a moment to help you dress." He left the girls in motion, and stepped back into the living room.

"Mr. Steele, glad to see you in one piece," Tank greeted, standing up out of the chair where he'd posted himself the evening before. The two men exchanged handshakes.

"I must say, the feeling's mutual," Remington replied, with a quick flash of his teeth. He turned to Billie and offered her a hand up from the couch, then leaned in to buss her cheek. "Thank you," he offered his sincere gratitude, "For the safe haven for our family, for staying with the girls last night."

"Awww, think nothing of it," Billie waved him off, blushing a bit under the earnest gaze of his blue eyes. "Truth is, I've enjoyed every minute of it. It's been nice having some little ones around here instead of the old geezers I usually have up here in these cabins."

"The girls and I should have breakfast ready in two hours or so. I'm sure they'd love it if you would join us," he offered.

"I think I just might take you up on that. But first, I'm going to stretch these old bones out and take a quick nap."

"Tank, I've got it from here. Do you think you might escort Ms. Young back to her house?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Steele," Tank agreed easily.

"Da!" Olivia called from the adjoining room.

"Breakfast in two hours, if you'll pass the word on to Dozer?" Remington issued the final invite, before striding towards the girls' room as Tank and Billie departed.

He couldn't help the laughter that passed his lips when he stepped into the bedroom and saw the outfits the girls had chosen to wear that day: their ballet outfits complete with tutu and ballet slippers. Perfectly acceptable attire, in his and Laura's eyes, when they were going to be staying home of a day, but not when they were out and about. He thought quickly as two little girls turned innocent looks of confusion on him.

"Fetching choices, the both of them," he complimented, ruffing Olivia's hair as he walked past. "But it's a bit too nippy out today, I'm afraid, and your Mommy will have my head should I arrive with two popsicles instead of her little girls."

"I wanna red poppickle!" Olivia declared, excitedly, dancing about on her feet.

"Orange!" Sophia chimed in.

"I never said we were having popsicles," he corrected, patiently, as he rummaged through the small closet and selected two dresses. "I said Mommy—"

"Mommy likes poppickles, too!" Olivia reminded him.

"Yes. Yes, she does," he agreed, as he pulled her nightgown over her head. "The purple ones, if memory serves. But—"

"My favorite color's purple," Sophie interjected. Olivia wriggled around, to look at her.

"Mine's pink," Olivia informed Sophie, as Remington turned her back around and reached for her dress.

"Mommy's was pink," Sophie told Olivia. Olivia stepped forward and turned away as Remington was trying to slip her dress over head. Tilting her head to the side, she looked at the other little girl quizzically.

"Mommy's is red," she disagreed, shaking her head, as Remington reached for her hand to gently tug her back around.

" _My_ mommy," Sophie amended.

"Oh," Olivia answered, puffing out her lip in empathy for the other girl. She shoved away the dress Remington was trying to pull over her head, and faced Sophie again. "Did she like poppickles?" With a sigh, Remington turned Olivia back around and ducked his head down so their eyes met.

"A stór, let's get your dress on, hmmmmm?" Remington encouraged.

"Okay, Da," she agreed.

"Mommy liked the green ones," Sophie informed Olivia. Remington let out a puff of relieved breath when he managed to shove Olivia's second arm into a sleeve before she wriggled around again.

"Green?" she asked, surprised such a thing even existed. She spun back around to face her father, who quelled the urge to moan when the movement stole away the button he'd been trying to slip through its corresponding hole. She clasped his face between her palms. "Da, are there green poppickles?" He widened his eyes, exaggeratedly.

"Well, I don't know. But I suppose we could look while we're at the store, hmmmm?" A pair of hips on her waist turned her back around. "And the sooner you're dressed, the sooner we can leave." He quickly finished the last two buttons and tied her sash. He eyed the tights and shoes with dread, then fastened his eyes on Sophie.

"Your turn, Sophie Bird," he announced, giving his daughter a pat on her bottom. The girls switched places and Sophie obligingly raised her arms, so he could remove her nightgown. Picking up the dress off the bed, he raised it over her head, only for her to back away shaking her head.

"That's Livvie's," she informed him, pointing to the dress.

"Grans gaved it to me," Olivia confirmed. Standing as he rehung the dress on the hanger, he returned to the closet.

"This?" he asked, removing a different dress. Both girls shook their head in the negative.

"That's Livvie's."

"Grans gaved it to me," Olivia provided helpfully again. He selected another, only to be greeted with a pair of shaking heads again.

"Which dresses are yours, Sophia?" he finally asked.

"I dunno," she said, with a dramatic shrug and hands held out to her sides, palms up. That left him flummoxed. How was it she could so easily assign away Olivia's dresses and not know her own? Finally, he removed the five remaining dresses from the closet and lay them on the bed.

"Which of these dresses are Livvie Bee's?" Sophie pointed to a dress on the far right.

"That one." Heaving a sigh of relief, he kept out the dress closest to the left and returned the others to the closet. In short order, he had the dress on Sophie, the buttons buttoned, and the sash tied.

"Alright. The both of you. Off to the bathroom, use the loo and brush your teeth. I'll be right in to brush your hair," he ordered.

"Then we get our poppickles?" Olivia wondered.

"I never-," he began to remind her, then resigned himself only to point out the door. "The bathroom, Livvie Bee."

He watched until she skipped away, then with a dreaded look at two pairs of tights and shoes, stepped into the living room and picked up the mobile phone. Dialing a number, he waited for the call to be picked up.

"I said _no comment_ ," a voice barked on the other side of the line.

"Mildred, darling, it's me," he announced. He could hear her swift intake of breath.

"Boss?! Boss! How's Mrs. Steele? The baby? Do you have any idea what it's been like around here? The press calling all night, looking for a statement. The kids calling at all hours after hearing what happened at your house. You have no idea how worried I've—"

"Laura is fine, Mildred," he assured. "The babe was born a little after one," a smile lit up and his chest puffed out with pride. "Ah, but he's a strapping little lad, all eight pounds of him."

"A boy? You had a boy!? Oh, Mr. Steele! What's his name? What does he look like?"

"Holt. His name is Holt. As for the rest, you'll have to decide yourself, when you see him. I imagine we'll be home no later than Monday." Another indrawn breath from Mildred.

"What about you, Boss? Are you okay? Michaels called, filled me in, but I told him I wouldn't believe you were okay until I heard it from your lips to my ears." Her voice turned censorious, and she wagged her finger, unseen. "You and the Missus have a habit of underplaying things to keep me from worrying."

"I'm fine, Mildred. Fine, fine," he assured. "Nary a scratch to be found. Can't say the same for the house, but—"

"How bad is it?"

"Bad enough that Laura should work herself into a fine lather over it before we depart from here." He relayed the damage left behind. "I need a favor, darling. Can you call Marcos, Lina, let them know the baby's arrived?" She gave a sharp nod of her head.

"I'll take care of it as soon as we hang up," she promised.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Olivia called demandingly from the vicinity of the bathroom.

"Coming, coming," he called back. "Mildred, I've got to go. Thank you, darling, for your help. We'll see you Monday."

"With bells on," she agreed.

Disconnecting the line, he rubbed his palms over his face, then joined the girls in the bathroom. Blessedly, it hadn't taken but a moment to brush their hair and clip it back with a pair of barrettes, then they returned to the bedroom. Any hope Remington had of finishing up their dressing routine with relative ease, ended with three words and a pointed finger towards a pair of tights.

"Those are Livvie's."


	5. Chapter 5: Expansion

Chapter 5: Expansion

"Mommy!" Olivia cried out in glee, as Remington swung open the door to Laura's room in the small, community hospital. Olivia raced across the room, and scrambled up onto the bed, her bag of treasures looped around her wrist securely.

"Hi, baby," Laura greeted, smoothing a hand down the length of her daughter's hair and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, as Sophie, Thomas, Catherine and Remington filed into the room behind Olivia. The little raven-haired girl backed away, and cupped her mother's cheeks in her hands.

"You weren't there when I wakeded up," Olivia commented, solemnly.

"No, I wasn't," Laura agreed, then sucked in a breath as the cold bag came in contact with her neck. "What have you got there?" Olivia scrambled away to sit further back and carefully eased the loop over her hand.

"I gotted you poppickles. Pupple ones," she announced proudly, holding the bag open for Laura to peer inside. Her eyes darted to Remington who shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her an exasperated look.

"Don't ask," he advised. With a nod she returned her attention to Olivia.

"My absolute favorite," Laura praised. "They're a wonderful gift, baby."

"I got you purple, too," Sophie ventured, shyly. Laura's eyes shifted to the little blonde.

"You did?" Sophie nodded vigorously. "Then, by all means, come up here and show me." Sophie, with a little boost of Remington's hand, eagerly climbed onto the bed on Laura's other side, and opened her bag to display her gifts, which Laura gave praise to, as well.

"Mommy, there are _green_ poppickles," Olivia told her, as though it was a true marvel of nature such a thing exists.

" _There are?_ " Laura exaggerated each word. Olivia nodded her head emphatically, Sophie joining in.

"They was my Mommy's favorite." Laura blinked at the admission. Sophie generally spoke of wanting her Mommy, not reminiscing about her.

"They must be _very_ good then," Laura told the child, stroking a hand over her head. Looking up, she gave Remington a pointed look. With a nod, he ducked from the room. "Do you think it would be okay for Granddad to give my popsicles to a nurse to put in the freezer?" Livvie worried her lip with her teeth, thinking this over.

"You don't want them?" the little girl asked.

" _I do_ ," Laura assured. "But I just finished my breakfast, so I'm full." Thinking about it another second, Olivia nodded her head.

"Okay." Thomas stepped forward and took both bags from the girls then left the room.

"Did you make breakfast with Da this morning?" Laura wondered.

"Yes. But he wasn't there when we wakeded up," Olivia informed her solemnly, then turned to look at her Da, only to find him gone. "Where's Da?" she asked, concern threading her words. Understanding she was concerned her father might disappear for days again, Laura put a bright smile on her face and pinched her daughter's chin playfully between two fingers. "Did Da tell you we have a surprise for you, girls?" The children nodded. "Well, he's gone to get the surprise, and will be right back," she told them, her eyes lifting to watch Thomas return to the room.

"Is it a puppy?" Olivia asked eagerly. Laura laughed, and shook her head.

"No, even better."

"Is it a kitty?" Sophie dared to venture, hopefully.

"No, not a kitty either. Something much, much better. At least I hope you'll both think so," she replied looking from girl-to-girl.

"As do I," Remington concurred, as he stepped through the door holding their blanket swaddled son. Approaching the bed, he carefully handed the baby off to Laura then cocked a hip on the side of the bed next to her, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, as she nestled the baby in her arms. Olivia pressed up on her knees on the bed, her eyes widening.

"It's a baby," she breathed in awe.

"Indeed it is," Remington confirmed, smiling at utter look of captivation on his daughter's face.

"For me?" she asked, reaching out a finger to touch the baby's hand.

"More like for all of us," Laura corrected, laughter lacing her words. "But he is _your_ baby brother." Sophie shifted to rest on her hands and knees, pressing her head next to Olivia's, staring with fascination.

"Is he mine, too?" Sophie wondered, her green eyes flickering questioningly between Laura and Remington. Laura turned her head to look up at Remington, and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. _No time like the present_ , she signaled without a word.

"Well, Sophie Bird, I suppose that depends on you," Remington answered. "We'd like nothing more than for you to stay with us…" He stumbled as a pair hopeful green eyes settled on him.

"Forever?" He swallowed hard, and looked to Laura for help, the look in her eyes all to reminiscent of the hopes he'd had as a child, hoping a family would find him worthy of keeping. Laura shifted her hand, to rub her thumb over his wedding band – a reminder that he'd found the home he'd once craved.

"Forever," Laura confirmed, quietly, as Thomas and Catherine watched the scene unfolding before them with damp eyes. "Do you know what adoption is, Soph?"

"No," she answered, drawing out the word in uncertainty.

"Well," Laura frowned, searching for the words, "It would mean, we'd be your mother and father now. And Olivia would be your sister and the baby…" she looked down at her son, then back to Sophie, "…would be your brother. Would you like that?"

"Yes," Sophie breathed the word. Blinking her eyes rapidly, Laura nodded.

"We'd like that very much, too," she managed. Olivia, oblivious to it all, caught up in her fascination with the baby who'd just blinked open a pair of blue eyes much like her own, looked up at her parents.

"What's his name?" Remington cleared his throat, taking this one while Laura recovered this time.

"Holt." His eyes shifted to his father, waited for Thomas's eyes to connect with his. "Holt… Fitzgerald… Steele."

"Fitz—" Thomas lifted a hand to his mouth, unable to finish the word past the lump in his throat. He'd once believed his family's line would end with him, then his son had found him. He'd once believed the family name would die with him, but now it would carry forward, even if in an unexpected way.


	6. Chapter 6: Details

Chapter 6: Details

The family spent a couple of hours visiting until Olivia and Sophie grew antsy, being contained in a small room for so long, and the baby announced it was time for his next meal. The girls departed with Thomas and Catherine, while Dozer was given instructions to return for Remington at four, so the girls and he could prepare dinner together. After changing the baby's diaper, Remington settled him back in his mother's arms for his meal, then stretched out on the bed next to them, dozing on and off until she nudged him with an elbow, indicating the baby was finished. Holt tucked into the bassinette, the couple cuddled together on the bed.

"Popsicles?" she asked, finally able to settle her curiosity about the gift. He chuckled, then provided her a very animated accounting of the morning's obsession with popsicles.

"Oh, my. Maybe next time you'll choose your words more wisely," she counseled, her laughter trickling through the room.

"Choose my—" He feigned affront. "Really, Laura, how was I supposed to divine the expression 'frozen like popsicles' would result in full blown mutiny?"

"I don't know that I'd call it a mutiny," she answered, laughter bubbling past her lips again, "More… focused determination."

"Mmmm. Focus. Something that would have been most appreciated this morning…" he ruminated.

"What do you mean?" she asked, curiosity piqued again.

"I swear to you, Laura, there are days it is more difficult to get our daughter into clothes than it was to get you _out_ of yours all those years," he continued his lament, despite the laughter that now had her shoulders quaking. "And we really must put labels on the children's clothes if they share a closet in the future. I spent near on thirty minutes picking through closet and drawers trying to find something for Sophie that wasn't met with the words 'That's Livvie's.'"

"The great Remington Steele – confounded by the closet of two little girls." A crooked smile lifted his lips at her insolence and he leaned down kiss her, his lips wandering, teasing until a hand clutched his shoulder. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he lay back, tightening his arm around her and slinging his other arm over his eyes.

"it's almost obscene, Laura," he murmured.

"What is?" she asked, brows furrowing.

"I spent thirty years relying on myself, needing nothing or no one, and now…"

"Now… what?" she prompted, tilting her head back to look at him when he fell silent. He lifted his arm and peeked at her, before lowering his arm again.

"And now, furious with you or not, after only a week apart I miss you so much there are times I feel I'm going out of my mind." He chuckled low in his throat. "Bloody well ridiculous, is it not?" She stroked his side with her hand, as she returned her head to its place beneath his shoulder.

"Comforting, in a way, actually," she corrected quietly. He peeked at the top of her head from beneath his arm.

"Oh, how so?" She shrugged a shoulder in answer.

"As you said, 'thirty years, needing nothing or no one'." Dropping his arm, he looked down at her with lifted brows.

"Do you mean to tell me nearly nine years, two marriages and three children later, you still believe—"

"Not most days," she cut in, leaning her head back to look up at him. "But when you're angry, shut me out… when you're in danger…" she shrugged. "I think those fears will always be a part of me, at least on some level. How could they not be when each day there's so much _more_ to lose?" He nodded slowly, unable to disagree.

"Get some sleep," he advised. "The babe will be ready for his next meal before you know it."

"Don't forget to call Mother and Frances," she reminded.

"I'll call from the cabin," he promised.

Closing her eyes, she smiled. One perk of this last week, at least, was she could avoid contending with her mother, at least for now.

* * *

If Remington had believed himself thankful for his father's presence in his life after nearly three-and-a-half decades without him, his gratitude knew no bounds over the next two days. He and Catherine had pitched in at every turn, making it possible for him to split his time between the girls and Laura and the baby. While Remington made certain the girls were up and dressed of a morning and took on responsibility for the morning meal, Thomas prepared the midday meal and dinner each evening, while he and Catherine returned to the cabins with the girls after their twice daily visits so that Remington and Laura could spend time together and with their son.

A surprise visit on Sunday evening had reminded the couple, not for the first time, how truly fortunate they were to have the people they did surrounding them, when the door to Laura's room swung open and Melina charged into the room, followed by an equally excited, but more composed, Mildred – both of them laden down with parcels.

"Tia Lina!" Olivia cried out, scrambling down from the bed to throw herself at her aunt.

"Mildred, Melina, what are you _doing_ here?" Laura exclaimed, her surprise evident in her voice.

"When Mildred called Papa and Mama with the news, I booked passage on the first flight to Los Angeles," Melina explained, picking up Olivia, never missing a beat as Remington stood to give Mildred a fond hug.

"And I realized, given the Boss leaving as he did, it was unlikely he brought what the baby would need to come home," Mildred added. "Sure enough, when your place was cleared this morning, I found the car seat in the nursery, so it seemed a road trip was in order."

"The car seat," Laura said in dismay. "I wouldn't have even realized until we were checked out tomorrow!"

"Thank you, darling," Remington told his surrogate mother, pecking her on the cheek. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Think nothing of it," she waved him off, a flush suffusing her cheeks. "Fred will be here in the morning, ready to drive Mr. an Mrs. Fitzgerald back to LA when you're ready to get outta this joint," she added. "I thought I'd stop by and see Billie on our way back to LA. Do you want me to let Dozer and Tank know they've been officially relieved of duty?" Remington and Laura exchanged glances, and at her nod of agreement, he answered for them both

"I'm sure they're both more than ready to get back to the relative comforts of the city," he confirmed.

"You got it." Dropping the bags she'd been carrying, Mildred hustled over to Laura as Melina greeted first Thomas and Catherine, then her brother. "Let me see this little guy," she insisted, leaning over to peek at the swaddled baby held in Laura's arms.

"Would you look to hold him?" Laura offered.

"Are you kidding?" Mildred guffawed, as though she'd lost her mind, taking the baby in her arms. She fingered back the blanket from the baby's head, giving him a good once over. "Looks like the Boss won the genetic lottery, again, huh?" Laura laughed in response.

"Our son could do worse," she noted, in a backhanded compliment that left Remington lifting a brow at her, as Melina made her way around the bed to take a peek at the baby.

"Xen, Laura, he's beautiful," she praised, breathlessly. "He looks just like Livvie."

"He does, at that," Remington agreed, as Mildred cooed at the baby, rocking him in the cradle of her arms.

"Hello, Holt. I'm your Aunty Mildred. I'm telling you now, you're going to be one spoiled little man," she vowed. "Yes, you are." She lifted her head to look at Remington. "Let's have it. What's his full name?" she asked, drawing Melina's full attention to her brother as well.

"Holt Fitzgerald Steele…" he provided, a wide smile on his face.

"It's a good, strong name," Mildred complimented. "You did good, kids."

"Or the Viscount of Stafford, as the case may be," he couldn't help but add. Mildred wagged a finger at him, in playful reprimand.

"In Europe, maybe. But there won't be any of that Lordship business here," she forewarned, giving him a censorious look, "That goes for you, too." Passing the baby to Melina, she hustled across the room.

"Surely the occasional—"

"Nothing doing," she cut him off, with finality, reaching up to pat his cheek fondly, before picking up the bags she previously set down, handing them to Laura. "From Marvin, BB and myself."

"Mildred," Laura elongated her name in quiet protest, "You didn't need to do this."

"Think nothing of it, hon. You managed to dodge another shower, so this is just a little something to get you going." Laura lifted each of the onesies, outfits, and pajamas from the bag, admiring each, only to find another pair of bags thrust at her by Melina as she continued to hold Holt in one arm.

"From Mama," she announced, as Remington cocked a hip on the side of the bed and joined Laura.

Within they found a crib sized quilt, much like the one used by Olivia when she played on the living room floor, as well as two knit blankets, two sweaters, hats, booties and socks, all clearly made by Elena's own hand. Catherine stepped forward to admire the Elena's handiwork.

"They're… stunning," she complimented, as Remington hummed his agreement.

"Extraordinary," Catherine added. "Puts to shame some of the finest designers in London."

Later that afternoon, after their children and extended family had departed and with Holt fast asleep in Remington's arm, he and Laura sat upon the bed, her head leaning against his shoulder as she watched their sleeping son.

"You know," she began thoughtfully, "There's a matter of some importance we haven't discussed yet." He slanted his eyes to look at her, while still playing with his infant son's hand with a single finger.

"Oh?"

"I assume, like Olivia, we intend for Donald and Frances to be the baby and Sophie's guardians in the event anything happens to us?" He was silent for a couple of seconds while he mulled the thought.

"I should think so. I'd like to know the children were being raised together, as they would be with us." She nodded her agreement. "If, that is, Donald and Frances agree they're up to the task. I don't think we can just assume…"

"I agree. A conversation is in line. Any thoughts on who their godparents should be?" she queried, although she had no doubts said godparents would be located on a small Greek isle for much the same reason. Still, there was another pause as he considered the question.

"I've given it some thought, yes," he acknowledged.

"Care to enlighten me?" she prodded when he fell silent again. Pursing his lips, he nodded his head slowly.

"Zeth and Calista as Holt's godparents." He turned his head to fully look at her, waited until her eyes met his. "Melina as Sophie's godmother. A bit unconventional, I'll admit. A single godparent, that is. But I believe Melina will do well by her."

"So do I." She sat up as Remington got off the bed, then turned to hand her the baby. She shook her head in the negative.

"Would you mind putting Holt in the bassinette?" she requested.

"Not at all." Laying their son down, he returned to perch a hip on the bed to lay a hand against her neck, thumb stroking it. "I'll be back in the morning in time for you to make your escape, hmmm?"

"Home." The word brought a smile to her face as she lay back against the pillow.

"Home." His smile matched her own as he leaned in to kiss her goodnight. "Get some sleep, love."


	7. Chapter 7: The Old School

Chapter 7: The Old School

Laura's eyes blinked open a little after eight. Staring at the white walls and dusky blue curtain covered window, she oriented herself to time and place. _Hospital, got it._ She rolled from her side to her back, trying to ignore the throbbing in her breasts, although her hand searched for the call button, even as she lay her other arm over her eyes.

"Can I help you?" the female voice came over the intercom.

"When the baby's awake, can you bring him in to me?" she requested.

"Yes, Mrs. Steele. I'll let the nursery attendant know."

"Thank you."

If the hospital was small, the nursery was miniscule, most women in the neighboring towns opting to deliver at a far larger facility nearly thirty minutes to their north. Laura, of course, hadn't been given an option, with a panicked Dozer and focused Thomas directing her travels. Well, not that she'd known about another hospital a mere half hour away. Had she, she may have insisted on traveling there, especially after her introduction to her Howdy Doody doctor.

But, there were benefits, she had to admit. Holt was currently the only infant in the small, country hospital, and as such the attendant assigned to the nursery would see to him exclusively. Thus, while she wouldn't even consider Olivia spending any time in the nursery at Cedars without Remington keeping a close eye over her, here she'd felt secure enough to let Holt out of her sight in order to get some uninterrupted, hopefully peaceful sleep that she was sorely in need of.

Not that she'd volunteered her intentions to Remington. No, that would have invited a slew of questions to which the only answer she has was that she was tired. Bone tired. That, in itself, would have invited even more questions, and more than likely her husband and partner insisting on staying the night to watch over her and their child, which was not at all an option. Olivia had kept her chin held high during her father's absence, but it wouldn't be she who invited her daughter to wake another morning only to find her father not asleep in his bed. No, not when the baby would be in perfectly good hands, she only a single call away.

She'd barely time to stretch and draw her hands through her hair before the door swung open and the that day's nurse walked through, signaling the beginning of a new day and a routine she was now reluctantly familiar with. Temperature, a perfect ninety-eight-six. Pulse, fifty. Blood pressure eighty-eighty over fifty-nine.

"Pressure's a little low," the nurse, Mari, announced.

"Oh?"

"Nothing to be concerned about, honey," she assured. "You seem to run low normal anyways, and after that good night's sleep," she winked. She moved to the end of the bed, to check Laura's pad – one of the many procedures she'd be glad to see end that day. "Still light. Lucky woman," the nurse commented. "I always bled like a stuck pig." Another thing Laura looked forward to the end of: tacky commentaries that seemed common in this facility. "The doctor should be in to see you in an hour or two and I imagine he'll be sending you on your way. I bet you're ready to get home to the big city."

"You have no idea," Laura smiled. Home. Their routines. It sounded like just what the doctor ordered, so to speak, to chase this feeling of lethargy, of heaviness away. She felt a little more revitalized at just the thought.

The morning got away from her. No sooner than Mari had departed her room, the attendant arrived with a red-faced, squalling Holt, ready for his morning meal. A meal she was only too happy to provide, not just for him, but for her own relief as well. Finally sated and well burped, she lay Holt in his bassinette, when the door swung open again, this time for Howdy Doody to stroll into the room.

"Mrs. Steele," he greeted, jovially. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Off. Ready to go home," she answered, honestly. He gave a careless shrug of a shoulder.

"Three days post-partum. Blood pressure a little on the low side. Strange place. I imagine anyone would be feeling a bit 'off' and that a dose of home is in order." She sat up in the bed.

"I'm released?" He scribbled on the chart in front of him.

"As of right now, you're free. Have a safe trip home."

With that, the doctor departed. Throwing back the sheets from the bed, Laura swung her legs over the edge and stood on slightly wobbly legs, taking a moment to damn the three days of relative immobility that were the cause. Grabbing the receiver of the phone, she punched '0' and requested an outside line, before quickly dialing the number to her mobile.

"Steele, here." She couldn't help the smile the graced her face at his customary greeting.

"Mr. Steele, how would you like to go home?"

"Ah, words that are truly music to my ears, Mrs. Steele," he hummed across the lines.

"Then how about getting over here and freeing Holt and I from this medicinal prison?" she suggested. On the other side of the line, his smile widened.

"As luck would have it, I'm turning into the hospital parking lot as we speak. Five minutes soon enough?"

"Just. No dawdling, Mr. Steele."

"Mmm. Little chance of that as I can think of little I want more than to get you home."

Hanging up the phone, she shed the hospital gown and happily changed into the maternity outfit she'd worn at her arrival. By the time Remington walked through the door of her room, she'd finger combed her hair back into a pony tail, and was just finishing snapping Holt into his outfit. Approaching her from behind, he wrapped an arm around her waist, to be rewarded by her straightening and laying her head back against his chance.

"I thought we'd stop by the cabins to give you time for a long, hot shower, before we get on the road, hmmm?" She turned in his arms to press up on her toes and grace him with a lingering kiss.

"Truly a man after my own heart," she murmured when their lips parted, their eyes meeting.

"Ahhh, a heart I'd thought already won," he teased, stroking her cheek with a thumb.

"Someone has to keep you on your toes," she answered, pertly. He laughed low in his throat, bussing her on the forehead then drawing her into his embrace.

"Oh, that you most certainly do," he agreed, as he released her. "Shall we?" He indicated an attendant pushing a wheel chair, waiting in the door.

It never even occurred to her to argue the presence of the wheelchair, as she normally would have done. Gratefully, she'd sat down in its confines, to be wheeled, as she held Holt, to the awaiting Explorer where she'd kept a watchful eye as Remington buckled the baby into the car seat secured in the middle of the backseat. She'd been utterly grateful for the enthusiastic greeting by her girls when she'd arrived at the cabin, for the hot shower and breakfast kept warm for her by her husband which awaited her there. But, she'd been beyond grateful when a pair of fingertips tracing her cheek and jaw woke her, and she stared out the windshield at their home. Groggily, she sat up, to find her hand still held in his.

"We're home, already?"

"Hmmmm. That we are. You slept nearly three-quarters of the way," he commented, concerned eyes resting on her. "Babe keep you up last night?"

"We're home! Sophie, we're home," Olivia called out happily from the backseat of the car. "Can we go play? Can we? Can we?"

"Sure, baby, as soon as we get inside," Laura promised, then answered him, distractedly, "No, not at all. He was in the nursery." Turning she climbed from the car, as he lifted a brow to her back, unseen. _The nursery?_ He remembered well her reaction when they'd tried to remove Olivia from the room after she was born. With a shake of his head, he got out of the car and opening the back door, released Olivia from her car seat then lifted her to the ground. Sophie followed, on the other side of the SUV, then at last he removed the baby as Laura corralled two excited little girls and herded them towards the front door. She watched, with a smile on her face, as the girls raced up the stairs towards what was now _their_ room, before a scent lingering in the air caught her attention.

"Paint?" she wondered aloud. With raised brows, Remington craned his neck towards his movie room, then took two long strides to look inside. Raising a hand, he scrubbed at his mouth, as his eyes wandered the room. "When did you have time—"

"I didn't," he answered before she had time to finish the question as his eyes roamed over the brand new widescreen television and sound system, then to the new sofa opposite.

"Then how—"

"I've no idea," he shook his head, taking three steps towards the office to peer in there as well, noting the brand new monitor sitting atop Laura's desk, and nary a stray piece of paper upon the floor to be found.

"Maybe this holds the answer," she suggested, picking up a card standing on a bi-fold on the coffee table. Skimming its contents, she laughed softly, then read aloud, "Welcome home. Monroe, Jocelyn, Murphy, Sherry, Bernice and Jason." She handed the card to him, as Olivia called her from upstairs.

"Mommy, can me and Sophie play on the swings?"

"I'll be right up," she called back, then turned to him as he explored, with his free hand, the wall where bullet holes had been only four days prior. "Can you bring the bassinette downstairs while I feed him and get the girls into play clothes?" she asked as she relieved him of the baby, who'd begun to squirm and root against his father's chest, seeking food.

"Bassinette, downstairs," he agreed, absently. With a shake of her head and amused roll of her eyes, she left the room, virtually unknown to him.

Despite nine years of living this life, little things occasionally astounded him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he studied the couch which was nearly a perfect replica of the one it'd replaced. In the early days of their early association, he'd once tried to explain the loyalty he'd found in those he trusted, who simply happened to make their livings on the shady side of the street:

* * *

" _ **He's of the old school, where there's still honor among thieves. He would never rip off a fellow miscreant."**_

* * *

Like himself, Monroe was very much of that old school and as he considered the Monroe's, Daniel's and Wallace's of his old life a rarity, so, too, had he always viewed Laura, for concepts such as loyalty and giving a hand up was to lost in many in this world as it was in his old. But as the years had passed, he'd had the good fortune of finding himself, mostly by Laura's design, surrounded by people much like the ones he'd chosen to keep close even after he'd walked away from his life.

Murphy, a former competitor for Laura's affections, the former partner who'd once deemed the mysterious stranger unworthy of a chance and certainly trust… Who, in the years since, had come through for he and Laura again and again in their most difficult of times.

Mildred, the surrogate mother he'd long ago come to rely on, who he often looked to as a personal barometer, much as he did Laura. Mildred who was always ready with an ear to listen, and with words of advice, whether asked for… or not. Who, he chuckled now, was fast to call him on the carpet when he made a wrong turn, but just as prepared with a word of praise when he chose the right course. Mildred, who'd championed he and Laura 'getting it right' from the very start.

Bernice, Jason, Sherry, Jocelyn… and certainly Frances, Donald and even Abigail, in her own unique way.

Not for the first time, he realized how capricious the fates could be, and wondered at how they'd found him deserving of all he now had.

"Remington," Laura called to him from upstairs. "The bassinette?" Shaking himself free of his thoughts, he strode out of the living room and to the stairs in the entry way.

"Coming," he called back, and with a smile on his face, went to do his wife's bidding.


	8. Chapter 8: Details of Life

Chapter 8: Details of Life

Not for the first time since Melina's arrival on their doorstep the Christmas prior, Laura and Remington were beyond grateful for her presence, for a very complicated day following their return from Twin Pines would have been rendered twice as much so if not for her.

Morning came early for the Steele family, with Olivia launching herself from bed just after dawn, Sophie fast on her heels, as always. They'd missed the coveted 'Balentine's Day' party at school the Friday prior and were eager to deliver their cards to their classmates and share the news of the new baby's arrival. Remington barely managed to keep them seated at the breakfast bar long enough to eat, before Olivia was asking

"Can we go, Da, can we go?"…

A dozen times before Laura was ready to go. Holt would remain home with Melina for this part of the day. Girls loaded into the Explorer with Laura, Remington followed behind her to the preschool, where they dropped the children off, together. At that point, they went their separate ways: Laura returned home for the baby's morning meal, while Remington drove to the Agency in the Auburn.

There, he was greeted with a host of good wishes, which were followed by him extending his and Laura's thanks to Bernice for her and Jason's parts in the repair of their home. The morning meeting went smoothly, but unfortunately, in the end, added to Remington's day. As with Olivia, he and Laura had planned for him to work an abbreviated schedule for six weeks after the baby's arrival. But… between Clarissa, then Jill's death, and trying to bring down Gabriel Castoro… there were matters that demanded the attention of the Agency's owners. Mildred was being deposed the next two days, in preparation for the trial of an embezzler she and her team had identified; there were skip traces awaiting either he and Laura to sign off on; case files stacked up; and three security installations that demanded he, personally, inspect and approve.

Then, there was Jimmy Jarvis who'd extended an invitation to Remington - and unbeknownst to him, Laura as well – to stop by his office for a little conversation. It wasn't difficult to interpret that the invitation was really a command and that it would not be a conversation but, in fact, a delivery of their statements pertaining to Castoro's misdeeds… and most likely a sound lecture on not having involved the LAPD detective.

Thus, by the time the morning meeting wrapped up, Remington sagged down into his chair and scrubbed at his face with his hands. Tipping his head to the side, he stared at the phone on his desk for long seconds, then finally reached for it. He wouldn't be able to meet Laura at the DNA test lab, as planned.

* * *

Laura was mentally reviewing her to do list when she arrived home after dropping the girls off at preschool with Remington and picking up diapers, formula and bottles at the market. While Holt napped after his feeding, she'd contact the insurance adjuster about the Jeep then make a call first to the office of their family law attorney, Gloria Abernathy, to see about scheduling an appointment for that afternoon then to their realtor, Meredith, to find out the state of Remington's offer on the Redondo property. And Bernard, she remembered, belatedly. They needed to know where he stood on settling Clarissa's estate. With a frown she added another item to her 'to do' list: Finding out if Abernathy could establish a trust for Sophia, or if they'd need to engage the services of an estate planning attorney as well.

With a sigh, she reviewed the errands that needed to be run. Sophie needed to be picked up from preschool and taken to the paternity testing lab, where Remington would meet them. After returning her to school, another trip home would be demanded. Thankfully, she'd have four hours or so to spend with the baby, and, she secretly hoped, she might even be able to grab a quick nap while Melina picked up the girls from school. Once they arrived home, she'd need to get them dressed for dance class, arriving early enough to register Sophie. They'd come back home at six just in time for dinner, bath and bedtime routine.

She was already exhausted just thinking about the day ahead.

And, upon walking through the front door of the house, found out it was about to get even busier.

"Laura?" Melina called to her from upstairs as she closed the front door.

"It's me," Laura called out, confirming. Melina appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Holt's awake," she announced. "Do you wish to feed him above stairs or below?" Laura pursed her lips as she considered the question.

"Downstairs is fine. He can sleep in the bassinette while I'm making my calls."

"Which reminds me, Xen asked that you call and a Detective Jervis?—"

"Jarvis," Laura corrected with a smile.

"Yes, that is it. Detective Jarvis. He would appreciate a visit by you this afternoon." Laura squelched the urge to groan aloud.

"Thanks, Melina," she answered, resignedly. "I'll call your brother back while you finish with the baby."

A call to the Agency was greeted with the news her husband and partner had already left for the first of his inspections. Hanging up, she dialed the car phone in the Porsche.

"Steele, here," he greeted in a raised voice, a clear indicator he had her on the speakerphone. She raised her own voice to match.

"Melina said you needed me to call?"

"Ah, Laura. Yes, I'm afraid if I wish to have dinner for your family prepared by a reasonable hour, I won't be able to join Sophie and yourself."

"Why?" she asked, concerned. "What's going—" She straightened where she stood and her eyes widened. "Wait. What do you mean, 'dinner for my family?'"

"Tuesday. Your mother is arriving from Connecticut this afternoon," he reminded.

"That's today?" she bemoaned. "It can't be today."

"And yet it is." She could hear the laughter in his voice. Refusing to think about her mother descending upon them until she had to, she turned her attention back to the original question.

"So, what's going on?"

"Jarvis cal—"

"Say no more," she held up a hand in gesture to the empty room. "I've been summoned as well."

"Shall we meet then? Strength in numbers and all that?" She gave her day a second mental run through.

"Around two?" she suggested, watching any possibility of a nap take a hiatus.

"Two it is. Until then…" he made a kissing sound on the phone that left her smiling and disconnected the line.

Hanging up the phone, a smile lifted her lips as Melina entered the room with the baby.

* * *

Laura sat in the waiting room of the DNA test lab, tapping her foot impatiently as she held the hand of the nervous little girl sitting stiffly next to her. Her phone calls that morning had netted her three appointments the following day. Bernard and she had agreed to meet at Clarissa's apartment the following morning at ten both review where he was with her estate planning and decide what in her apartment would be saved for Sophie and what would be donated or sold. Meredith, their realtor, had arranged a two o'clock walk through of the Redondo house so Laura could do a mental inventory of the additional furnishings they would need. Then, at four, she and Remington would confer with Abernathy regarding the custody case and the establishment of a trust for Sophie. If all went smoothly, she wouldn't miss any of Holt's feedings.

With a mental shake of her head, she focused on the here and now. Turning slightly in her seat, she bestowed a bright smile on Sophie.

"Do you remember what we discussed, sweetie?" Laura asked, as she gave the little girl's hand a squeeze.

"Yes," Sophie answered in a near whisper, removing her thumb from her mouth long enough to answer, then plopping it back in. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Laura gave the little blonde a half-hug. She could hardly blame Sophie for being nervous. This was yet another strange place, another unfamiliar event in her life after too many weeks of strange places and unfamiliar events.

"Soph… sweetie…" Sophie lifted her green eyes to Laura's face, but remained steadfastly quiet. "I _promise_ you—" She let her words trail off. What could she promise Sophie? That there was nothing to be frightened of? She was already terrified. That this was it, there would be no more uncomfortable surprises on the horizon? She couldn't do that either, for life was nothing if not unpredictable. That the test wouldn't hurt? She'd already done that, but Sophie wouldn't truly believe it until the test was over. Changing gears, she began again. "Soph, what do you think about _you and I_ finding those party invitations after we leave? Would you like that?" Sophie's eyes widened and she nodded her head eagerly. "Then, that's what we'll do."

It was a well-rewarded conversation, as Sophia relaxed enough to lean against Laura while they waited their turn. It had also added another element to the afternoon, but it had been well-worth it. Sophie was still struggling to find her footing, only truly comfortable when Olivia was near, only very rarely able to get past her fears, her confusion when she was with Laura or Remington alone. But as they shopped for invitations, Olivia's enthusiasm supplanted her normal shyness.

"What about Barbie invitations?" Laura suggested, holding up a pack with three of the infamous dolls on the front of it. Sophie turned and studied the cards with all the concentration such an important matter deserved.

"She has hair like mine," she observed.

"Yes, she does, sweetie." Sophie shook her head, rejecting the cards. "You don't like them?"

"No one looks like Livvie," she explained.

"Ah," Laura answered, as understanding dawned, recalling the Snow White, Sleeping Beauty conversation two weeks past. "So you want an invitation that is about both you and Livvie." Sophie nodded her head in agreement, eyes bright.

Cabbage Patch invitations went by the wayside as did Minnie Mouse and the Disney Princesses. An invitation with flowers on it was rejected, because the flowers weren't both pink and purple. Rainbows were shaken off, teddy bears were frowned at. Twenty-five minutes after they'd arrived, Sophie clutched a package of cards and danced on her tippy toes, a wide smile lighting her face.

"They's like our Valentine's!" she announced gleefully.

" _They're like_ ," Laura corrected automatically, then bent down to look at the cards. A puppy and kitten played on the cover, as Sophie said: the perfect blend of the Valentine's she and Olivia had picked out. Then Laura's heart plummeted. A large, scripted "Thank You" was etched into the cover. She became a little more hopeful when the plastic package indicated the cards were blank on the inside. A quick look around and she plucked two packages of butterfly stickers off a nearby rack. "You're absolutely correct, Soph! These are perfect," she praised. "Tomorrow night, you, Da, Livvie and I will write out the cards together."

The little trip to the store had tacked forty-five minutes onto the afternoon, and after dropping Sophie back at the preschool, she arrived home to a bellowing infant and Melina, who'd been trying to hold off his next feeding as she paced the floor with him.

"Melina, _thank you_ ," Laura told her, sincerely, as she released several buttons on her blouse.

In a few short seconds, Holt was grunting as he suckled hungrily, and Laura let her head fall to rest on the back of the couch and closed her eyes, desperately wishing for a nap. Wearily, she lifted her arm and glanced at her watch, then made an executive decision: Jarvis would have to wait. Once Holt had eaten his fill, was burped and diaper checked, she lay him back in his bassinette then collapsed on the couch, pulling the afghan over herself. In seconds, she was fast asleep.


	9. Chapter 9: Opposition

Chapter 9: Opposition

Remington paced next to the Porsche in the parking lot of the LAPD. Two-eleven and not a sign of Laura. It wasn't unusual for her to be late for personal engagements, actually quite the norm, but he couldn't remember the last time she was tardy for a professional matter. Swinging open the door of the Porsche, he sat partially in, partially out of the car, and reached for the car phone. When he hung up, after speaking with Melina, he took a swipe at his face, unable to believe Laura – _Laura_ – had dismissed Jarvis's request, seemingly for now. With a swipe of his face and a shake of his head, he strode towards the entrance to the LAPD.

The 'visit' had gone precisely as Remington had predicted: Forty minutes of questioning surrounding the shooting at their home, followed by Jarvis pursing his hip on the corner of his desk and looking down at Remington where he sat in a chair, legs crossed, before it.

"How long have we known each other, Steele?" Jarvis wondered. "Five, six years?"

"Eight, going on nine," Remington corrected.

"Gee, has it really been that long? I've gotta admit, I've never been very good at keep track of those things," Jarvis mused, in his Barney Fife routine. Remington adjusted his tie, while looking at the man.

"Yes, well, it would appear someone hoping to put you away for murder stands to be rather memorable," he noted drily. Jarvis laughed, good-naturedly.

"Is that why you and Holt chose to shut me out? An old grudge?" Jarvis queried, feigning confusion while scratching at his head. "I thought we'd all agreed to let bygones be bygones."

"Laura and I both agreed you could be trusted," Remington answered, getting to his feet. "Now let me ask you, mate: How many of the boys in blue you trusted have been proved dirty these last days? Hmmm?"

"You could have at least brought me into—"

"This wasn't some _case_ , Jarvis," Remington pointed out, stridently. "This was our family Castoro was coming after, need I remind you. Neither I nor Laura will apologize for doing what we believe we needed to do to keep them safe." He strode towards the door and lay his hand on the knob. "Are we done here? I've another appointment on the day and we've family coming for dinner." Jarvis knew when he met a wall, and he'd met one in Remington, and gave his shoulders a shrug.

"When can I expect Holt?" he inquired.

"I'm sure she'll be here when time allows. With a newborn at home, time has to be taken where it can be found." Jarvis stood at that and smiled at Remington.

"It seems congratulations are in order," he noted, crossing the office to offer Remington his hand. "Boy or girl?"

"A son," Remington preened, while exchanging handshakes.

"Tell Holt I said congratulations." Jarvis then turned serious. "And that I'll see her no later than tomorrow."

Warning taken for what it was, Remington departed the office, his attention already focused on the last appointment of his day.

* * *

Laura didn't wake until she heard the chatter of Olivia and Sophia as they returned home from preschool. Sitting up on the couch, she shook off the last vestiges of sleep as her daughter ran full tilt for her. Gathering Olivia in her lap, she stretched an arm around Sophia when she perched on the side of the couch next to her. After a few minutes of catching up on the girls' day, she sent them upstairs where she'd help them prepare for dance class.

"Melina, I'm sorry," she apologized, as she stood, watching while Melina removed a sleeping Holt from his car seat and lay him in the bassinette.

"It is nothing," Melina insisted, dismissing the apology with a wave of her hand. "This is… how you say?... a piece of cake." Laura laughed aloud. Melina had often cared for Zeth and Christos's children, and certainly their broods of six children was well more than the Steele's three.

"Still, I can't thank you enough. I'm going to go get the girls ready for dance."

By the time the girls were dressed and the baby was fed, Remington arrived home bearing to bags of groceries. Setting the bags down on the kitchen counter, he swung Olivia and Sophia up in turn to buss them on their cheeks in greeting. With a smile in his sister's direction, he gathered Laura with an arm around her waist and dropped a kiss on her lips. His blue eyes studied her face, found a weariness in her eyes he'd seldom seen in years past.

"How do you feel? Hmmmm?" he asked low enough so it wasn't overheard while he cupped her cheek in his palm.

"Better," she assured. "I'm going to get the girls to class. What's for dinner?" she asked, slipping out of his arms then peeking into the bags.

"I thought I'd keep it simple this evening. Veal medallions in red sauce, pasta, Caesar salad."

"Mother will love it." Turning, she pressed up on her toes to give him another kiss, leaving him grinning. "We'll be home by six."

And they were, arriving only minutes before the Pipers and Abigail, adding to Laura's already heightened emotions that always accompanied her mother's arrival. She hadn't had a chance to change, make herself 'presentable', as her mother would say, which only provided her mother her first, glancing blow, when she and Laura were left alone in the entry way.

"Laura, dear, do you feel alright? You look awful." Laura grimaced as she hung Abigail's coat in the closet, then plastered a smile on her face before turning around.

"It's been a busy day, Mother. The girls and I only got home from dance class a few minutes ago."

"'That's no reason to let yourself go, dear. A few minutes to freshen up is all it takes to present your best face to the world. That's all I'm saying," Abigail answered, while peeking her head into the movie room, and, deciding it would do for a bit of privacy, walked into the room, leaving Laura no choice but to follow behind.

"Is something on your mind, Mother?" she inquired, all to familiar with her mother's habit of getting her prey alone so she could go in for the kills, couching her comments in words of concern.

"I'm simply worried about you, dear," Abigail answered, on cue. "First, what happened here at the house. Then having the baby earlier than planned and in the sticks, no less. Now, Frances tells me you and Remington are considering adopting this…" she flicked her hand towards the other room "…troubled child who you didn't know from Adam a few weeks ago. I mean, what are you thinking, Laura? Don't you think it would be better for all of you if—"

"We're not _thinking_ about adopting Sophie, Mother," Laura interrupted, already having heard enough.

"Well, thank God you've come to your senses," Abigail jumped in. "I thought I was going to have to—"

"You didn't let me finish, Mother," Laura cut in, acerbically, again. "We're not _thinking_ about adopting Sophie, we _are_ adopting her."

"Laura, do I really need to point out you've just had a baby? You did well enough with one, but it's far more challenging with two," Abigail argued. "To take on a third child, a troubled one at that?"

"Sophie may be 'troubled', as you put it, but what _child_ wouldn't be, after all she's been through?" Laura demanded to know. " _Despite that,_ she's a wonderful child, Mother, and if you have an issue—"

"Abigail!" Remington greeted effusively, loudly enough to carry over whatever Laura intended to say next. Stepping behind her, he lay a pair of firm hands on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze, before stepping to Abigail and bussing her on the cheek. "Frances was just wondering where the two of you had gotten off to," he offered, taking Abigail's hand and laying it on his as he escorted her towards the living room, "Salad's on the table, and Livvie insists she'll not eat a bite until you're there."

Laura watched after the pair as they left the room, then lifted a hand to knead her brows with a pair of fingers, irritated as much with herself as she was with her mother. Abigail wouldn't be Abigail if she was criticizing her youngest daughter in some form or fashion. True, true, there were times those comments reduced Laura to childish retorts, to snippy comments… and certainly left her self-esteem more than a bit dinged. But she'd never resorted to telling her mother if she didn't like the choices her daughter made for _her_ life, she didn't need to be part of it… and that was just what Laura had been prepared to do. Her mother comments had simply been one thing too many on weeks of too many things.

Dropping her hand, she drew in a purposeful long, cleansing breath and let it out slowly, focusing on regaining the rigid control of her emotions that she was known for, then walked towards the dining room to join the rest of the family.

* * *

"Say goodnight to everyone girls, it's time to get you ready for bed," Laura announced at eight-thirty. It was already an hour past when they normally began the bedtime routine, and the odds were high Olivia would be cranky in the morning because of it. That her raven haired daughter didn't protest, instead only asking…

"Can Grandma read us our bedtime story?"

spoke volumes: much like her mother, Olivia would never admit to being tired, but she was more than ready to go to sleep.

Forgoing hair washing, baths were accomplished relatively quickly, dressing and teeth brushing following suit. Laura sat next to Sophie on her bed, stroking her hair, rubbing her back, while Abigail sat next to Olivia as the next two installments of _Garden of Verses_ were read. A bedtime song, followed by a promise to send Da up for goodnight kisses, and the melodic voice of Rosemary's _Bedtime Stories_ playing quietly in the corner of the room, lulled the girls into a deep slumber.

While Remington continued to play the gracious host to Donald and Abigail, Frances joined Laura in the nursery while she prepared Holt for bed, then nursed him in the rocker.

"I simply cannot get over how much he looks like Olivia and Remington," Frances commented. Laura smiled down at Holt, his eyes wide open and staring up at her.

"There's certainly no doubt Remington's their father," Laura laughed. "Myself, on the other hand? No one would pick me out of the crowd as being their mother."

"That's simply not true, Laura. Why Olivia has your… well your…" Frances struggled to come up with any trait shared between mother and daughter, drawing another laugh from Laura. "Holt's eyes still might turn…" she offered, feebly.

"It's alright, Frances," she comforted. "if you want to know the truth, I always hoped they'd take after Remington. And I _like_ Holt's blue eyes. They'll serve him well."

"How _did_ the two of you come to settle on his name? Never in a thousand years would Donald and I have thought of something so… original."

"Remington gets credit for Olivia's full name, and Holt's first, although I suggested Fitzgerald for his middle," Laura admitted.

"You didn't have an input? Laura—" Laura held up a hand at the sound of disapproval in Frances's voice.

"It's nothing like what you're imagining, Frances," Laura interrupted to assure. She let her mind wander back to those nights in Greece more than four years before, and smiled softly, as she discretely removed Holt from her breast and moved him to her shoulder to be burped. She slanted her eyes towards Frances, deciding on how much to share. They'd never filled in Frances, Donald or her mother on the details of her time spent with Roselli after she'd been kidnapped. And as high strung as Frances was, even four years after the fact, she'd be beside herself if she knew the whole of it. "The days after my kidnapping were… challenging. I had difficulty sleeping, nightmares. Marcos suggested Remington give me dreams to replace those nightmares."

"Oh, Laura, I think that might be the most romantic thing I've ever heard," Frances enthused, as Laura moved Holt to her other breast and he began to suckle enthusiastically again.

"Yes, it was," she agreed. She looked up at her sister through her lashes. "Olivia Elena, Holt. The name of our children when he would dream of our future."

"And if had been another girl?" Frances wondered, wrapped up in the tale.

"He'd only ever dreamed of two: a girl, followed by a boy," she shared. "I chose the girl's name. Aislynn, for his mother; Rose… for ours."

"Mother would have been beside herself," Frances breathed.

"And _that_ nearly convinced me not to do it," Laura deadpanned. Frances burst out in hysterical laughter.

"Laura, you are absolutely _terrible_!" Laura gave her big sister a dimpled smile, then pursing her lips, grew serious.

"Frances, Remington and I were hoping to have time to speak with you and Donald this evening, but I'm really not up to Mother's… input." Frances sobered, and leaned in towards her little sister.

"Speak with us about what?"

"We're going to ask Zeth and Calista to be Holt's godparents and Melina to be Sophia's godmother," Laura explained as she rose, patting Holt's back. "As with Olivia, we'd like you and Donald to be their guardians should any—"

"We'd be honored," Frances accepted immediately. Laura shook her head as she lay Holt down then stood back up and faced her sister.

"This is a _big_ decision, Frances. We're not talking one child any longer or even two. Three children are a lot to take on. You and Donald need to sit down and really discuss it. And until you do," she lay a hand against Frances upper arm, "I don't want an answer." Turning off the nursery light, she closed the nursery door until it was cracked open. "Let's go downstairs and join the others, before I'm subjected to another one of Mother's lectures on the duties of a hostess," she suggested. "I just need to get the baby monitor." Crossing the hallway to the master, Frances followed on her heels.

"I still can't believe you're selling the house," Frances commented as she looked at Remington's sketches where they hung above the fireplace. Leaning down to pick up the baby monitor up off Remington's bedside table, Laura turned to leave the room, when the world tilted on its axis and she visibly swayed on her feet.

"Laura?" Frances rushed to her side and grabbed her arm. "Laura, what is it?" Laura clenched her sister's arm and took two steps towards the bed, lowering herself onto it. She was silent as she focused on her swimming head, raising Frances's alarm. "Sit right here. I'm just going to get Reming—" Laura squeezed her sister's arm tighter, refusing to let go.

"Don't. I'm fine, just give me a minute," Laura insisted.

"Oh, I don't know," Frances wrung her hands. "You almost passed out, Laura. I think it would be—"

"I was just a little dizzy, Frances, I didn't nearly pass out," Laura corrected, as the room slowly righted itself. "Would you mind getting me a sweater from my closet?" Frances walked to the closet even as she continued to protest.

"I still think I should get Remington. He'd want to know—" The tentacles of panic plucked at the recesses of Laura's mind. If he had any inkling she wasn't feeling well, he'd hover, worry, wrap her in bubble wrap – or at least try to – much as he did after her kidnapping.

"I don't want to alarm Remington needlessly," she argued. "I had a busy day, today, and suspect I have a bladder infection, that's all. I have to schedule a follow-up with Dr. Adams anyway, so I'll call in the morning and make an appointment."

"I don't know…" Frances continued to fret, as she returned from the closet with the requested sweater. "Are you sure that's all it is?"

"Since it feels like Holt is still sitting on my bladder, yeah, I am," Laura laughed, then stood carefully. The room remained stationary, much to her relief, and she pulled on the sweater. "C'mon, I'll tell you all about the new house on the way downstairs."

Together, they left the room, leaving Laura on pins and needles until the trio of adults departed for the evening, fearing Frances would inadvertently raise the alarm.

* * *

Remington stepped out of the bathroom a little after midnight, hair still damp, and dropping his robe at the end of the bed, slipped into bed next to Laura. His brows raised when her socked feet came in touch with his legs.

"Cold, love?" he asked in a low voice.

"The room does have a bit of a chill," she confirmed. Standing, he crossed the room, and flicked on the switch at the fireplace, then watched as the gas logs lit, before returning to bed and spooning around her.

"I suppose I'll just have to keep you warm then, hmmmm?" he murmured next to her ear, then bussed her on the cheek.

"That, Mr. Steele, is the best offer I've had all day."

"Myself, as well, I assure you." The comment made her realize they hadn't had a minute to catch up all day.

"How _was_ your day?" she wondered aloud.

"Busy enough for me to realize this won't be as it was after Olivia was born," he answered with no little regret. "I managed to sign off on all three Finegold stores, so we'll be able to bill for those. I've a stack of skip traces requiring review not to mention case files awaiting me on my desk when I arrive in the morning. Mmmmm, I forgot to tell you. Do you recall our encounter with Peter Wamai at the Policeman's Ball?" She stroked his lower arm and threaded their fingers together.

"Owns several electronic stores, if I remember correctly," she replied.

"You do," he confirmed. "Nine to be precise, scattered from here to San Diego. Bernice scheduled a lunch meeting for tomorrow at noon."

"Would you like me to join you?" He gave her hand a little squeeze.

"If you're up to it." She rolled to face him, chill be darned, and gave him a smile that was all the answer he needed.

"Do you think you could manage taking the afternoon off?" she wondered, as she fingered the lock of hair back off his forehead, when he settled his head on his pillow, facing her.

"What do you have in mind?" He captured her hand in his again, and stroked the palm with a thumb.

"Meredith has arranged for us to take a second walk-through of the Redondo property tomorrow at two, and we have an appointment with Abernathy about Sophie at four."

"I'll see to it that Bernice clears my schedule from lunch onward then," he agreed, easily.

"And I promised Sophie we'd do the party invitations with her and Olivia tomorrow night," she added.

"Picked them out, did you?" She shook her head, as best she could, with it resting on the pillow as it was.

"Sophie did, actually." She related to him the story of their excursion at the store, his warm laughter surrounding them as the story unfolded. "She's a really good kid, Remington."

"She is," he concurred.

"Not that Mother cares." She closed her eyes, recalling the conversation, then open them and met his. "She thinks adopting Sophia is a mistake. That two children may be more of a challenge than I can handle let alone three." Lifting their joined hands to his lips, he brushed them over her knuckles.

"So, that's what I walked in on, hmmm?" She blew out a puff of air.

"Yes," she answered, drawing out the word with no little aggravation in that single syllable. He gave her hand a tug as he rolled to his back, then waited as she wriggled over to press herself against his side, laying her head under his shoulder, and splaying an arm over his torso.

"Try to remember she means well, love. Not easily done, and understandably so, given the way she expresses her concern."

"Also not easily done," she groused. "My entire life nothing I've done is right in her eyes. You'd think that now that I'm married, have a family of my own - by some miracle in her eyes, I might add – that I'd have at least done something right!" she protested.

"She's proud of you, Laura," he soothed.

"No, _she's not_ ," she denied. "No matter what I do, it will never be enough. I'll never be Frances, the dutiful daughter, the perfect wife and mother. I'll always be the daughter who helped chase her husband away." He frowned down at the top of her head, at that, wondering how many years would have to pass before she stopped blaming herself for the actions of a grown man.

"I believe you're wrong, in that," he countered quietly. "But even if I should be mistaken, that I am absurdly proud of all you've accomplished should count for something, hmmmm?" With a shuddering release of the tension in her body, she pressed herself more firmly against him in a hug.

"It counts more than you know."

"That's good to know." He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Get some sleep, love. It seems we've a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."

With a final nod on the evening, she closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of the man beneath her.


	10. Chapter 10 - Towards the Future

Chapter 10: Towards the Future

The addition of a business luncheon proved to make another busy day… chaotic. Thankfully, Remington had volunteered to drop the girls off at preschool on his way to the office, which meant Laura was able to stay home and spend some time with Holt before the demands of the day took over. And, if she managed to get everything done on her list today, after her nine a.m. appointment with Dr. Adams tomorrow, she'd have the remainder of two, glorious days alone with her newborn son… and time to catch up on some much needed sleep. Braking, she pulled the Explorer to a stop in front of Clarissa's apartment building. Cutting the engine, she climbed from the car, scanning the numbers on the buildings as she shut the SUV's door.

Heels clicking against the pavement, she walked in long-legged strides to the apartment, stopping to frown at the door which had been left open a crack.

"Bernard," she called she slowly pushed the door open with her fingertips.

"In the Clarissa's room," a voice from the back of the apartment called.

She stutter-stepped when the door swung all the way open and she saw the chaos in the living room: Furniture was toppled and the bottoms sliced open with a sharp instrument; pictures on the wall lay on the floor, their backs torn away from their frames; and the fireplace was overflowing with soot. Stooping down before it, she picked up the smoky remnants of a corner of a photograph.

"What happened here?" she asked when Bernard stepped into the room.

"It was this way when I got here." Turning on her heels, she looked towards the dining room, which was equally in shambles.

"Looking for any other evidence Clarissa might have gathered, I imagine," she thought, aloud.

"Then why burn photo albums, Sophie's baby book?" Bernard questioned, holding up a cover to the baby book in question, then dropping it to the floor.

"I don't know that we can ever understand how a deranged man's mind works, can we?" she posed. Then, her mind registered the consequences of Castoro's actions. "They're all gone? The pictures?" she asked, in dismay.

"Whoever did this was very thorough," he confirmed. Standing, she glanced down the hallway where the two bedrooms were located.

"And Sophie's belongings?" He held out a hand indicating she should precede him down the hall.

"Her clothing seems undamaged," he answered, providing the only upside that he could.

The room, like the one before it, had been ransacked. Furniture lay broken, the mattress and box springs shredded, dolls and stuffed animals ripped to pieces.

"Oh, Soph," Laura lamented. "Clarissa's room?"

"The same."

"Alright. Don't touch anything else. I need to make a phone call…"

A phone call to Captain Thibodeaux netted a pair of officers who'd already been vetted as 'clean' and a half dozen crime techs to process the house. While Thibodeaux had given permission for her to remove any of Sophie's belongings that were left undamaged, the things that truly mattered – photographs, baby books, anything that might keep Clarissa close for Sophie - were long gone. Better a fresh start than things that might bring painful memories with them. Anything that might have true value to the little girl, Remington had already, thankfully, retrieved.

Clarissa's estate was… sufficient. Her debts had been settled, her cremation paid for. After taxes, the estate would deposit a little over seventeen-thousand into trust for Sophia, thanks, in large part, to Clarissa's modest life insurance policy. The morning had been virtually fruitless, thanks once again to Castoro, and she barely had time enough to go by the house and feed Holt, before she was back out the door to meet Remington for lunch, calling to Melina in parting that they'd pick up the baby after their meeting.

The meeting had gone well, and they'd walked away with a gentleman's agreement for the Agency to provide upgraded security at all nine locations. There was no time for celebration however, as they made a quick trip by the house to pick up the baby, then were on their way to Redondo Beach. They arrive twenty-five minutes late, but Meredith was there, awaiting them patiently.

"The Farrell's moved out two days ago. They asked that I give you a copy of the key and pass along that you're welcome to come and go as you please, and they'll see you at closing next week."

"Thank you," Laura answered, glancing at Remington who didn't seem at all surprised by this turn of events.

"It's my pleasure, as always," Meredith replied. "Congratulations on the baby and if I don't hear from you about putting the Holmby Hills house on the market before closing on this house next week, I'll see you there." With that, the realtor, discrete as always, let herself out.

"Why do I think you had a hand in this?" Laura accused, mildly, as Remington set the infant carrier on the floor and helped her out of her coat.

"It's amazing how an all-cash offer contingent upon a quick closing can inspire sellers," he posited, "Especially when they're eager to begin 'divorced bliss,'" he reminded with a grin. With a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head, she removed Holt from his carrier and cradled him in an arm. "So tell me…" he suggested with a sweep of his arm across the expanse of the living room.

"Can you take the baby?" she requested.

"Of course." He easily transferred the baby from her arm to his, then walked the expanse of the living room. This, the less formal of the two living rooms in the home, offered a stunning view of the horizon through an expanse of glass that stretched the length of the room.

While he appreciated the view outside, she appreciated the view of him. _Savor this, Laura,_ she ordered herself. And she did. He walked with a child in his arms as naturally as he walked alone, carrying on an animated conversation with the baby as though Holt understood every word he spoke. _Captive audience_ , she laughed to herself. Giving her head a firm shake, she—

Staggered, as the wave of dizziness swept over her. The fingers of a hand flexed against the nearby wall as she used it for support and focused on her breathing while _damn, damn, damn_ repeated in her head. She was too tired to fight, and if he believed her to be ill, they'd end up doing exactly that because after months of being restricted, she was in no mood to be so again.

"What do you think?" Remington asked, then turned to look at her when she didn't answer. "Laura?" She forced her eyes to meet him and put a smile on her face that she didn't feel.

"I'm sorry, what? I tuned you out about the time you started synopsizing _From Here to Eternity_ for our five-day-old child." He gave her an aggrieved look.

"Really, Laura, if I don't teach him what the true classics are early on, you'll have him watching _Gidget_ and he'll have no idea—"

"Save the sales pitch, Mr. Steele," she cut him off as she found her footing. "The question at hand?"

"I was asking how you envisioned this room," he repeated.

"With its proximity to the kitchen, dining room and the deck, not to mention the height of the ceilings and the view, I imagine as a family we'll spend bulk of our time in here, don't you?"

"I do," he concurred.

"Then I'd like to set it up like we currently have it at home..." she looked at the wide expanse of the room, "…only more spread out. The living set here…" she blocked off an area with her arms "…the seating area here…" then another area, before she traveled to the end of the room, most adjacent to the kitchen, "… and the dining area here," she finished. "Which means we'll need furniture for the more formal of the two living rooms."

They moved from room-to-room downstairs. Furniture from their Holmby Hills home would be utilized in the renamed 'family room', dining room, kitchen, and home office. The room dubbed for their shared studio would require removal of carpeting, installation of wood floors, a mirrored wall and a barre. In the home theatre, they'd remove the built-in seating, and another sofa, matching the one they already owned, would be purchased, along with a couple of comfortable chairs. The game room was repurposed into a playroom, and a pool table, and dart board would need to be purchased for the billiards room.

The length of what they needed to furnish the house only grew, became weighty in Laura's eyes. Furniture for Sophie's room, a guest room, leaving the last of the bedrooms in the main house empty until Holt was ready to move to his own room – for now, the private den in the master would be made into his nursery. The two guest cottages would require living and dining furniture, bedroom furniture, and all kitchen wares.

For someone who enjoyed shopping, such a spree would seem heaven sent. But this was Laura, and shopping was on a short list of things she liked least to do. Also on that short list: interior designers. This was _their_ home, and she wanted it to reflect their tastes, their _efforts_. With a pained look on her face, which left Remington chuckling, she accepted shopping it was to be.

Determining what, if anything, would be needed out of doors would have to wait, when Holt began squirming and squalling, making it clear he was ready for a change and his midday meal. They sat on a pair of abandoned Adirondack chairs as Laura nursed the baby, listening to the peaceful sound of the gulls above and the crash of the waves against the shore below. After, on the drive to Abernathy's office, Holt slept and Laura dozed, she rousing easily when they reached Abernathy's building. In the waiting room of the attorney's office, he reached for her strikingly cold hand while she vigorously tapped a heel.

"Anxious?" he half-wondered, half-assessed. She turned a quick smile on him.

"No, not at all," she denied. " She leaned down and moved the carrier in front of him. "I'll be right back."

Almost as soon as she returned, a few short minutes later, they were called back to Abernathy's office. After greetings and handshakes all around, Remington and Laura took their seats across from the woman.

"I was waiting on your call, Mrs. Steele," Abernathy began. "The newspapers and evening news have had some remarkable… revelations… in recent days." Ducking her head down, she looked at the couple over the rim of her glasses. "And I have a sneaking suspicion there is far more to it than what the authorities are choosing to share right now."

"That suspicion would be well-founded," Laura smiled. Abernathy lay clasped hands on her desk.

"So, what is it I need to know?"

Laura and Remington took turns sharing the details they'd previously omitted: from Sophie watching her mother's attack, through Castoro's attempt to eliminate his own child. After, they answered all the attorney's questions without qualification. When they concluded, Abernathy sat heavily back in her chair, and removing her glasses, chewed at an earpiece, considering all she'd learned. Dropping the glasses on the desk, she eyed the couple at length.

"What would you like to see happen?" she asked bluntly. Laura reached for Remington's hand.

"We wish to adopt Sophie, as quickly as possible," Remington answered for them both, giving Laura's hand a squeeze. "She deserves to know she has a home… a family that wishes to keep her," he paused, then added vehemently, "And that _no one_ can take that from her."

"I can't imagine the Court won't sever Mr. Castoro's parental rights to the child as soon as we present evidence of his involvement in her mother's murder, not to mention the attempt on the child's life. Given it was the wish of the child's mother that you have guardianship-"

"Sophie," Laura interrupted. "Her name is Sophie." She couldn't say why Abernathy's reference to Sophie as 'the child' annoyed her, but it did.

"Yes, Sophie," Abernathy conceded, with a smile. "Before the Court can sever rights, however, we have to prove Castoro _has rights._ Where do we stand on the paternity testing?"

"I took Sophie in yesterday." Laura answered as Abernathy thumbed through the file on her desk.

"And Mr. Castoro submitted his sample ten days ago," the attorney provided, as she handed Laura a piece of paper. "According to his attorney's filing last Thursday."

"His filing?" Remington questioned, leaning towards Laura and reading the paper she held. "Good Lord!" he declared, as he skimmed it. "He requested the Court hold Laura and I in contempt?"

"Given the circumstances, I don't see the Court humoring the motion," Abernathy dismissed. "So, once the paternity test results come back, if they confirm Mr. Castoro is Sophie's father, we'll file immediately for permanent custody pending severance of parental rights, requesting expediency by the Court in both matters. In the meantime, we wait."

Laura made a mental note to call Milton when they got home. After verifying with the attorney that she'd be able to assist in setting up the trust for Sophie, the Steele's departed. The drive home centered on Remington's ideas for investments that would see Sophie's trust grow across the years then ideas for dinner that evening.

"Da!" Olivia called out, when her parents walked through the front door. Racing across the living room, she threw herself at her father, who lifted her in his arms with a smile on his lips and blue eyes lit with affection. Olivia cupped his cheeks in her palms to be certain he was paying attention when she spoke again. "Thea Melina is _cooking_ ," she reported in a voice that suggested Melina was doing something wrong.

"Is she now?" he asked, assuming a grave face. "Giving you and I the night off, is she?" He heaved a pretend sigh. "I suppose we'll just have to work on your party invitations then, hmmmm?" Olivia's face lit up in excitement at the suggestion.

"Okay!" she agreed happily, then squirmed, indicating she wished to be put down. "Hi, Mommy," she greeted with a wave as she ran from the room. Laura made at face at her husband.

"Well, don't I feel like chopped liver," she muttered, drily, as Remington took her coat and she stooped down to release Holt from his carrier. As she lifted her head to stand, she peered into a pair of bright green eyes. She was left blinking her lashes furiously when Sophie stepped forward and gave her a tentative kiss hello. "Hi, sweetie," Laura managed to greet around the lump in her throat. Sophie's face lit up at the implied approval of her greeting, then skipped out of the room.

"Now who's left feeling like chopped liver?" Remington teased.

"Pate, Mr. Steele, pate," she corrected, patting him on his cheek and giving him a playful lift of her brows. He could help the silly, lopsided grin, thoroughly flattered by her words. "I'm going to change the baby, then I'll be down to help with the invitations."

He couldn't help but admire her graceful form as she ascended the stairs.


	11. Chapter 11 - Mommies Don't Come Home

Chapter 11: Mommies Don't Come Home

"Thanks, Milton. I really do appreciate it. And, again, I'm sorry for calling so late," Laura was saying into the phone as Remington tossed his towel onto the back of a chair then slid into bed next to her. She laughed at something that was said. "You're on. I'll talk to you soon. Goodnight."

"And how is your friend, Milton?" he asked as she turned to her side to hang up the phone. He noted she was wearing the same ensemble as the evening before, right down to her socks.

"He's going to prioritize the paternity testing for us. We, along with the Court, should know the results no later than right after lunch tomorrow," she answered, as she rolled toward him, and tucked herself against his side. He flinched violently when her hand touched his side.

"Good God, woman!" he exclaimed, pushing himself up to sit, taking her with him. "Your hands are bloody well like ice!" Grabbing one of her hands, he put it between both of his and began to rub vigorously. "Should I ask what that little reference of 'you're on' was in regards to… _Binky_?" She laughed gaily at the question.

"Only that I owe him lunch for giving us a hand, Mr. Steele," she informed him in a bemused voice.

"Well, that's a load off a man's mind." He narrowed his eyes, and studied her face while his hands continued to chafe hers. "How do you feel, love?" he asked with concern, as he switched hands.

"I'm fine," she assured, more so out of habit, than in a prevarication.

"Lau-ra," he drew out her name. "You wore a coat most of the day, despite the tepid temperatures on the day. You did nothing more than move your food about on your plate at dinner this evening." His hands pause as he recalled something. "Come to think of it, much the same as last night, which I wrote off to whatever had gone on between you and your mother. Your hands are ice cold and the last two nights you've come to bed dressed in attire suited to the wilderness." She grew increasingly uncomfortable as he ticked off each point.

"It's nothing to worry about," she finally answered with more than a little reluctance. "I made an appointment with Dr. Adams for tomorrow morning. My guess is it's nothing more serious than a bladder infection."

"Why do you believe that?"

"Heaviness in my abdomen," she began, raising a finger as she ticked each symptom off, "Feeling like I have to pee constantly, but unable to do so. Vague discomfort in my abdomen. Nausea that comes and goes. Feeling more tired than normal."

"Why didn't you say something?" His displeasure was evident in his tone.

"You know the answer to that," she admonished. "And have you hovering over me? _It's nothing_ ," she assured again. "I'll see Dr. Adams tomorrow, he'll give me an antibiotic, I'll take it easy the next two days, and by this weekend I'll feel as good as new."

"I guess we'll see tomorrow morn—"

"Oh, no," she shook her head, adamantly, "You aren't going with me. You have those files waiting on your desk, and as much as I enjoy _the drudgery of paperwork_ , I'd like nothing more than a nice, quiet weekend at home."

"I can't think of a thing I'd enjoy more," he hummed, releasing her hand and laying back down. He waited until she stretched out against him, then embraced her in an arm. "The girls seemed to enjoy themselves this evening. Sophia appears to be growing quite comfortable with you." She smiled, as she remembered Sophie climbing into her lap voluntarily as they worked on the invitations.

"It's odd, but I don't think I expected to feel this way about her," she pondered aloud.

"Oh? Care to explain?"

"That she's as much mine as Olivia and Holt."

Bending his head down he pressed a hard kiss atop her head, his arm tightening more firmly around her. He couldn't recall a time when he'd loved her more.

* * *

An unfamiliar sound crept into Remington's dreams, waking him. In the dim room, he stared at the empty beside him, then muttered a self-deprecating oath. He hadn't heard the babe cry, so Laura had gone to taken care of him herself. Rolling to his other side, he climbed from the bed, then shrugged on his robe, not bothering with the sash. He was stymied for long seconds when he found the nursery empty and Holt sleeping soundly. He walked down the hall to Olivia's room and found both asleep in Sophie's bed and no sign, whatsoever, of Laura.

He laughed softly to himself as he realized he'd find her where he often had in the middle of the night the last several months. He was left rubbing at his mouth with a hand, and turning around to sweep his eyes over the darkened living room when the kitchen proved empty. Opening the door to the terrace, he called out her name, with no response in return.

His movie room and the office were likewise devoid of her presence. Returning to the foyer, he found her keys in the bowl and her purse where she normally left it. Climbing the stairs, he checked their studio and the girl's bathroom, both empty as well. Returning to the master suite, he picked up her robe, still laying at the end of the bed. He didn't even realize he still had it in his hand as he called out her name while he walked towards the bathroom. He flicked on the bathroom light and…

Her robe fluttered to the floor, suddenly lax fingers unable to hold onto it.

His heart dropped to his toes.

He drew in a sharp breath.

Then he ran.

"Laura," he called to her, as he kneeled beside her. Automatically, he turned her to her back.

"Oh, God. Laura!" he spoke her name louder, with more force, his eyes taking in her pallor, the ugly bruise appearing on her forehead, the trickle of blood from the small wound in the middle of the bruise. He patted her cheeks, her wrist, vigorously, trying, in vein, to rouse her. He shifted to his knees, the wet floor dampening the knees of his pants, as he reached for a wash cloth and soaked it with cool water from the sink.

The washcloth landed on the floor, with, what he would later recall, a sickening 'plop.'

The wet floor.

He forced his eyes to move ever southerly, until they stilled, riveted in both shock and horror on the pool of red on the floor. Panic clawing at him, he forced his eyes slightly upwards, then screamed…

"Lina!" A pair of fingers on a tremoring hand reached for the carotid artery on her neck, his heart pounding painfully in his chest when he found a thready pulse there.

"Lina! For God's sake, Melina!" he yelled again, as he reached for the washcloth which still lay on the floor.

The house around him came alive, although he was quite unaware it had. Holt began crying in the nursery, Olivia and Sophie jumped out of their beds and followed Melina as she ran down the hall to the master, the trio colliding when Melina came to an abrupt stop just inside the bathroom door.

"Mommy!" Olivia screamed in reaction to both the bright red on Laura's clothing and at the fear she saw on her father's face.

"Lina, get them out of here and for God's sake, call 9-1-1," he ordered, then returned his full attentions to his too still wife.

Melina gathered the girls to herself quickly, backing them out of the room.

"Children, go to your room until I come for you." When both girls remained immobile, Melina drew upon all that she had and commanded, "Now!" in a voice that brooked no arguments. A silent Sophie and sobbing Olivia ran towards the sanctuary of their room.

Grabbing the portable phone from Laura's nightstand, Melina dialed 9-1-1 and, yanking the bedspread from the bed, returned to the bathroom. She rattled off their address and a request for an ambulance as she spread the spread over her sister-in-law's unconscious form.

"What happened?" she asked her brother, as he applied pressure to the wound on Laura's forehead.

"I don't know," he rasped. "When I woke she wasn't in bed or the nursery. I found her here."

"Her husband does not know," Lina repeated into the phone. She listened attentively as another question was asked. "A wound to her head… She's bleeding badly… No, not from her head… I don't know. Yes, yes… She's breathing… No. I don't know. Yes! She gave birth to a child on Saturday last… Xen…" She tried again, raising her voice. "Xen!" He looked up at her, his mind clearly elsewhere. "Has she felt unwell?" He searched his muddled mind.

"A bladder infection. She believes she has a bladder infection. Was to see her doctor in the morn." Lina relayed the information, listened at length then hung up the phone.

"Five minutes. The medics will arrive within five minutes," she relayed.

"Lina, the babe, the girls," he ground out past the lump in his throat, as he stood. "I'll care for Laura, can you please…" It was all he could managed, as he bent down and lifted Laura, bedspread and all, into his arms.

"I'll see to them," she answered, rushing from the room.

He'd barely made it downstairs when sirens were wailing in the driveway and the entryway was lit by flashing lights. The paramedics worked quickly and efficiently, while peppering Remington with questions. An IV was inserted into Laura's arm to deliver saline, a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her other arm, her pressure checked, then she was loaded onto a stretcher, Remington following behind it.

He turned and gave Melina a final look, his heart aching as he took in Olivia who clung, crying, to one side of Lina, and Sophie, who clung to Melina's other side, thumb in her mouth, eyes wide and frightened.

"Lina, call Mildred. We'll be going to Cedars. And my father. Call my father."

Those were the last words he spoke, the door slamming behind him.

"Come with me, children," Lina directed the girls. "We'll sleep in my room tonight once I've the baby fed and back to bed."

"I want my Mommy and Da," Olivia wailed around her sobs.

"Mommy and Da will be home very, very soon," she assured her little niece, even as she said a heartfelt prayer that this was true.

"Mommies don't come home." Sophie whispered the truth that her limited life experience had taught her.

She followed Melina and Olivia to Melina's room, wondering what would happen to all of them now.

* * *

 _ **A/N: I will be posting a short and sweet Christmas story as well as a couple more of the Vignettes before I begin my holiday travels on the twenty-third. I will be 'out of pocket', so to speak, for just shy of three weeks. I will try to update as I can, but I have no idea what my internet or time situation will be. ~RSteele82**_


	12. Chapter 12: No Answers

Chapter 12: No Answers

Chaos. Confusion. Fear so pervasive he could taste it. These were memories from that night which never lost their potency in the years to come. Just the remembrance of those feelings would leave his throat tight, his heart hammering against his ribs.

First, the ambulance. The siren wailing. His eyes taking in everything: the bag of clear liquid being fed into Laura's vein; the red splashed over her clothes, patching her face; the paramedic's attempts to get her to respond. The questions his muddled mind struggled to compute.

Laura, so pale, so still.

"Mr. Steele!" A voice pierced the fog in his head.

"Huh? Yes? What did you say?"

"Any recent medical history?" the medic repeated.

"No." He rubbed a hand at his mouth. "Yes, yes. I mean yes. We had a child early Saturday morning."

"Full term?" the man pressed.

"Early, by near on three weeks." He drew a nervous hand through his hair, wondering why the man was badgering him rather than attending to _her._ "Can you—"

"Any complications?"

"No… No." He watched as the man checked Laura's blood pressure, then shook his head.

"ETA?" he shouted to the driver.

"Less than thirty seconds," a male's voice replied.

"Called in?"

"A team will be on deck when we pull in," the voice came again.

"Blood type?"

"What's wrong with her? Can you tell me that?" Remington asked.

"Mr. Steele, your wife's blood type?" the medic repeated. Remington searched his brain for the answer.

"A. A negative. What's—"

He stopped speaking when the ambulance came to a halt, and then seconds later the rear doors swung open. Cacophony ensued. The sound of her stretcher being removed from the ambulance. The paramedic reciting stats and observations to the doctor. The doctor barking back questions. People chattering in the ER. The sounds of the wheels clacking against the tile floors. The hum of the lights overhead. More people, talking over each other. The sound of the scissors cutting the legs and waistband of Laura's pants, the sound of material tearing. Doors opening, people entering and leaving. The sound of a phone's receiver being picked up, a number dialed. A voice issuing more orders, other voices reciting new stats, answering those orders.

And with the noise: motion. People rushing around. Arms moving. Units of blood being hung. Equipment brought close to the bed, taken away. Laura being examined.

Throughout it all, questioned hurled in his direction.

"Name of your wife's OB?"

"Adams."

"Someone page Adams to surgery! Date of delivery?"

"The sixteenth."

"Adams handled the delivery?"

"No. No. She was out of town when she went into labor."

"Full term?"

"I've already answer—"

"Not to me. Full term?"

"No. Almost three weeks early."

"Any complications."

"No, all was fine… fine."

"Has she had any recent complaints? Headache? Lightheadedness. Lethargy? Anything?"

"Tired. Yes. Tired. And cold. She wore a coat all of yesterday. And the last two nights, complained of being cold at bedtime. Her hands. They were like ice. She thought she might have a bladder infection." He'd answered the questions haltingly, unable to think clearly, needing answers himself. Countless times he'd asked what was wrong with her, only to be told that is what they were trying to determine

"We'll need your consent for surgery," the doctor told him, and someone promptly shoved a clipboard of papers underneath his nose. He took the clipboard automatically, staring blankly at it.

"For what?"

"We need you to sign the papers, sir," the nurse at his elbow told him insistently, ignoring the question, as he watched people on either side of Laura's bed lift the rails, then stepped back as two people at the head of the bed began to push it towards the doors. His frustration finally got the better of him.

"Not until someone tells me what the bloody hell is wrong with my wife!" he shouted, loudly enough that the nurse at his elbow jumped.

The hospital bed stopped its movement.

"Mr. Steele," the doctor answered, impatiently. "All we know right now is your wife has experienced postpartum hemorrhaging. Dr. Adams will be taking over in the OR. Until he gets in there, we won't know the extent or cause of the hemorrhaging. And the longer you wait to sign those papers, the longer those answers… and your wife's treatment… are delayed.

With that, Remington could only scribble his name on that piece of paper then watch as they wheeled Laura away.

ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

"Boss!"

Remington lifted his face from his hands and stared blankly across the surgical waiting room, as his surrogate mother rushed across it, Rusty following behind. Wearily, Remington stood, accepting the bear hug Mildred bestowed him with, before taking his hand in hers and encouraging him to sit back down next to her.

"What happened? How's the missus?" He dragged his free hand through his hair.

"I don't know. I don't know," he answered, resting reddened, bleary eyes on the older woman. "Postpartum hemorrhage. That's all I know until she gets out of surgery."

"How long's she been in there?" Automatically, he glanced at his wrist where his watch normally lay and found his wrist bare. He searched out the waiting room clock.

"Forty minutes, or thereabout." Resting an elbow on his knee, he dropped his face back into his hand.

"Well, don't you worry, Boss," Mildred announced, trying to offer what comfort she could. "You know Mrs. S. There's no one and nothing that will stand between her and what she cares about. There's no way she'll let _anything_ take her away from you and those kids.". He tilted his head to look at her.

"From your lips, Mildred…"

They fell into silence and waited.

The clock. Another memory he might likely never forget. Now that he'd identified its location he'd heard each tick of the second hand since, each tick louder than the one before it. As if being gripped by the suffocating fear he might lose her weren't enough, the clock merely added to his torment. Ticks… seventeen… thirty… one-hundred fifteen… six-hundred-four… four-thousand-thirty-eight…

He fought the urge to wrap his arms around himself and rock – Laura's habit when she was most fearful, uncertain. He thought he might go mad from the wait, and soon his mind had taken a dark turn. Was it him? Had providence not forgiven him quite yet after all? He'd lost his own mother shortly after his birth, were his children destined to lose their mother in a cruel repeat of history? Was he cursed? Or had he simply been careless? He'd been so… vigilant… during her pregnancy with Olivia, petrified something might go awry. But the pregnancy with Holt? He'd been all together… casual about it, outside of his hard stance that she respect the physical limitations imposed in order to keep she and the babe safe. Elsewise? He'd been too at ease, too relaxed, after things had gone so well with Olivia. What had he missed?

At the fourteen-thousand-two-hundred-eighty-ninth tick of the clock, his head snapped up when his father appeared before him, an overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

"Father," Remington greeted, both his gratitude for his father's presence and fear of what might happen clearly reflected in his voice. The two men exchanged a lengthy embrace.

"You must keep the faith, son." Thomas spoke low enough so as not to be overheard.

"I'm trying," he answered, then giving his father's back a pat, regained his seat, heavily.

"Mildred," Thomas greeted, then offered Rusty his hand. "Rusty." Niceties dispensed with, he set the overnight bag at his son's feet, then sat at his side, opposite Miildred.

"Melina asked I bring this along," he explained. Remington's head snapped to attention at that.

"You've been to the house?"

"Catherine insisted her presence would be better served there," Thomas confirmed.

"The children. How are the children?" Remington asked, anxiously, the image of his frightened girls clinging to Melina seared into his brain.

"The babe is soundly sleeping," his father offered, then paused to consider the wisdom of the truth versus the comfort of a half-truth, and made the decision his son already had enough worries to contend with. "Catherine and Melina were getting the girls to bed when I departed," he added. Remington closed his eyes and nodded his head.

It was, in fact, a half-truth. Sophia had been more withdrawn than Thomas had ever witnessed before. When Catherine had arrived, Sophie had willingly left Melina's side to enfold herself in Catherine's open arms. The child had merely sucked her thumb, rocked, stared at nothing, as silent tears dripped from her reddened eyes. Catherine's attempts to offer words of solace to her little granddaughter had had disastrous results.

"You'll see, darling. She'll be home in no time at all." Sophie had merely hiccupped then lifted large, solemn eyes to her grandmother.

"Mommies don't come home." They'd been the only four words the little girl had spoken, and the look on Catherine's face had said they'd made her heart break.

As for Olivia? The words had her shoving herself away from Melina and running for the front door.

"Mommy. I want my Mommy," she keened through her sobs. Thomas had swept his first-born grandchild up into his arms, holding her as she cried and tried to wriggle out of his arms. "Mommmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyy."

"Come now, Livvie darling," he'd crooned. "I give you my word, as soon as I'm able, I'll take you to see your mother. For now, however, you must stay with your Thea Lina and Grans." He hugged her closer as her tiny hands gripped his neck, the hair at the back of it. "Ahhhh, my child, I give you my word, all will be fine." _No matter what happens_ , he'd silently added to himself. With great reluctance he'd handed his granddaughter over to Melina, her wails as he departed, and even now, following him as a specter.

"Mommmy! I want my Mommy!"

Thomas fell silent, where he sat next to Remington, his personal torment second only to his son's.


	13. Chapter 13: A Diagnosis

Chapter 13: A Diagnosis

"Mr. Steele?"

Remington lurched to his feet upon hearing his name, his eyes going directly to the door of the waiting room. The white-haired Dr. Adams stood within the doorway, still wearing his surgical scrubs and booties, the shirt of the scrubs peppered with blood splatter. _Laura's blood._ Remington swayed where he stood, suddenly finding Mildred and his father on either side of him, offering subtle support.

"Laura? How is she?" he rasped, terrified of the answer the question might yield.

"She'll recover," the doctor answered immediately, not wishing to prolong Remington's agony. Beside Remington, Mildred fairly sagged with relief, while Thomas muttered in a whisper…

"Thank the good Lord above."

"If you'll come with me, Mr. Steele," Dr. Adams continued. "I'd like to speak with you about your wife's condition, privately." Remington lay a hand against his father's upper arm, then turned to buss Mildred on the cheek, before following Adams from the room to a small, empty room which contained only a half dozen chairs and an x-ray illuminator attached to the wall. The doctor waited until Remington took a seat across from him.

"Before I review Laura's condition, I have a few questions, that will allow me to develop a better picture of how we've come to be where we are," the doctor informed. Remington drew his hands through his hair, the request making his anxiety climb even higher. Everyone had questions, yet no one seemed to care to provide the answers to his. He said as much.

"I've answered everything I've been asked this evening, yet no one seems interested in answering mine. When can I see Laura?" he wearily inquired.

"She still hasn't come out from under the anesthesia. I've left instructions with the post-surgical staff where we can be found and to notify us as soon as she comes to," Adams provided, then leaned forward, bracing himself on elbows to knees. "Mr. Steele, I won't pretend to understand what you're going through. I can only imagine. But I've known Laura since she was sixteen-years-old, and when she regains consciousness, begins to come to terms with what's happened, she's going to demand answers. We can give her some, but not all. I'm afraid you may have those, whether you're aware you do, or not." Remington drew his hands through his hair, frustrated, but unable to deny the truth of Adams's statement. Laura would demand to know all that had happened, down to the smallest of details. He resigned himself to another round of questions.

"Fine. Let's get on with it then."

"Laura went into labor last Friday and delivered on Saturday. Is that correct?"

"It is."

"Prior to the start of labor, had she experienced any problems? Lethargy? Complaints of unexplained cramping, bleeding?" A stab of guilt pierced Remington's heart, as he recalled how he'd shut her out for days. They'd only begun speaking again the evening prior to her going into labor. He'd asked how the babe was doing. Had he asked after her own health? He couldn't recall.

"None that she'd mentioned," he finally answered.

"And during labor?" Remington searched his mind.

"A headache. She had a headache, but nothing else out of the ordinary."

"Did the attending physician at her delivery mention any concerns, any oddities?" Adams pressed.

"No. Nothing at all." A heartbeat later, Remington was on his feet, a look of utter disbelief on his face as he realized the implications of the question. "Are you saying you believe what has happened to Laura could have been avoided?"

"As of right now, I don't have enough information to say that definitively, but I have my concerns, yes."

"She didn't trust him," Remington muttered, more to himself than to the doctor. Turning away from her doctor, he tipped his head back to look at the ceiling, before rubbing his hands against his face. "My God." His failures continued to add up, in his mind. She'd _told_ him she didn't trust the young doctor, and he'd merely written it off to nerves. Yet, he trusted her instinct like no other's. What else had he missed? A memory niggled at the corners of his mind, dislodged, inadvertently, by the doctor's next question.

"Directly after birth. Any concerns, oddities?"

"She sent the babe to the nursery so she could sleep," he answered, recalling he'd found it brow raising behavior for her at the time. Olivia hadn't been allowed out of her sight unless he stayed with the babe when she left the room. He relayed this information to the doctor.

"And since?"

"Tired. Lack of appetite. Had complained she felt chilled on several occasions." He returned to his seat, propping his chin in a hand supported by elbow to armrest. "Her hands cold to the touch. She also said she believed she might have a bladder infection. Made an appointment to see you." Adams leaned back in his chair and peered at Ryan over the top rim of his glasses.

"Mr. Steele, Laura's surgery revealed a good deal of information." Remington sat up and leaned slightly forward. Could it be he would finally find out some answers?

"Such as?"

"During pregnancy, the placenta attaches to the uterine wall. In one out of roughly five-hundred births, the placenta attaches too deeply. Generally, we see this in a woman with a history of cesarean births or accompanying placental previa. Neither of these circumstances apply to Laura, she is simply one of those women who experience this complication despite the lack of precursors."

"Complication? You mean the hemorrhaging," Remington speculated.

"A symptom of the complication, placenta increta. There—"

" _Placenta increta?_ " Remington repeated aloud, the words feeling awkward on his tongue.

"As I was saying, in pregnancy the placenta attaches in the uterine wall. In some cases, however, the placenta attaches _too deeply_ , a state which is known as placenta accreta. There are three forms, or degrees, of this condition: accreta, in which the placenta does not breech the uterine muscle; increta, where the placenta does breech the uterine muscle; and percreta, where the placenta fully penetrates the uterine wall and may even attach to organs external to the uterus."

"And Laura had the second of these," Remington stated, trying to wrap his mind around what he was being told.

"She did," Adams confirmed. "We found numerous infiltrates, some which breeched the uterine muscle, others which did not."

"What does all this mean?" Remington asked, drawing a hand through his hair. Adams stood and removed two papers from the file laying on the chair next to him. Clipping these on the illuminator, without turning it on, he indicated Remington should join him.

"Laura's ultrasound," the doctor announced, with a nod to the grainy black and white photos. "We found extensive clotting within the uterus, the clots ranging from the size of a pea," Adams indicated several of these with the tip of his finger, "Others substantially larger," his finger moved across a half-dozen large, dark shadows. The artist in Remington automatically calculated the size relative to the outline of the uterus shown in the ultrasound.

"My God," he breathed, his finger indicated the largest of the dark shadows. "It's the size of a child."

"Not quite. The approximate size of a football would be more accurate," Adams corrected. His finger skimmed along the picture. "See these?" Remington leaned in for a closer look. "Each of these areas show the disruption of the normal hypoechoic myometrium by the invading placental tissue. These," his finger indicated four areas, "Show the placental tissue has nearly completely penetrated the full thickness of the uterine wall. Almost, however, not completely. Otherwise, we could have been looking at placenta percreta. Most of these clots," his finger pointed to the smaller ones, "would have passed without Laura being any the wiser, but these," he tapped at the larger ones, "These were acting as a finger in the dyke, so to speak, and when they broke free—"

"She hemorrhaged," Remington concluded, aloud.

"Yes, and no," the doctor answered. "Because of the uterine infiltrates and the placental tissue left behind after delivery, bleeding would have been present since delivery, supported by her lethargy, feeling cold, being cold to the touch and I wouldn't be surprised if Laura had experienced dizzy spells she didn't report. This clot," he indicated the largest, "was located at the entrance to the cervical canal, masking the degree to which she was already hemorrhaging. It's when this clot broke free that potentially fatal hemorrhaging occurred, as the infiltrate associated with it had nicked multiple uterine veins." Pulling the images free of the clips, Adams put them back into the file and took a seat again, indicating Remington should do the same.

"But the hemorrhaging, you've stopped it?" he asked, leaning forward, both elbows pressed to knees.

"We have, and have evacuated all the clots that were present." Adams took a deep breath and let it out. "Mr. Steele, there's no easy way to say this…" Remington's head suddenly filled with alarm bells. Swallowing hard, strained eyes regarded the doctor intently.

"What? What is it?" he appealed, urgently.

"We saved her uterus, but the damage was… considerable." Adams lifted solemn brown eyes to Remington's worried blue ones, then with a shake of his head, finished, "The scarring will be extensive." He held up a pair of hands. "I'm sorry to say, Laura won't be able to have any more children."


	14. Chapter 14: Failed

Chapter 14: Failed

"I don't give a damn about that," Remington dismissed, getting to his feet to pace. "She'll be alright?"

"She will," Adams affirmed again. "Plan on her being in the hospital at least overnight,0 then if all goes as expected, we'll release her home tomorrow. You can anticipate her being more tired than normal, that she'll require more assistance than she'll like, if I know Laura at all." Remington snorted softly, at that. "She'll experience the normal post-partum cramping as her uterus contracts back down to size. But other than that…" Remington stood and paced, his thoughts going a mile a minute. Drawing a hand through his hair, he turned to look at Adams.

"Your questions… earlier… Could this have been avoided?"

"In my educated opinion," the doctor nodded slowly, "Yes, even withstanding the lack of history which would alert another physician to such a complication. Still, there would have been… indicators… that a complication existed." Remington jumped on that.

"Such as?"

"The placenta, when delivered, is normally fully intact, its surface smooth," Adams explained. "In cases of placenta accreta, no matter the degree, the placenta's surface is rough, pockmarked, resembling swiss cheese. If procedure had been followed, and if the physician who performed the delivery was adequately trained, then examination of the placenta, which is standard course, would have revealed the abnormal surfacing, the pieces which had torn free during delivery."

A knock on the door had both their heads turning towards it and an attractive nurse garbed in scrubs poked her head in.

"Dr. Adams, Mrs. Steele is coming to." Without thought of the conversation they'd been having, Remington strode towards the door, Adams following in his wake.

His knees nearly buckled when he first saw Laura lying in the recovery room, her freckles standing out against her too pale skin, but the steady rise and fall of her chest offered at least some form of comfort. Elbowing his way past the attendant standing next to her bed, he took her hand in his, then leaning down brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear.

"Laura?" He patted her hand. "Laura?"

When her brown eyes fluttered open, he didn't give a damn who was in the room. His blue eyes blinked rapidly, then he simply let the determined tears fall, as he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Don't you ever do such a thing to me again," he rasped. It took every ounce of her concentration to lift her heavy arm, and lay her hand against the back of his head in comfort. He swallowed hard at the action, then nodded his head rapidly against hers before pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead and standing.

Her eyes drifted around the room, as the anesthesia continued to cling, muddling her thoughts. She frowned at the IV hanging near her head, at the white walls, her gaze skirting over the elderly man then flickered back to settle on him.

"Dr. Adams?" she asked, voice hoarse. Before he could respond, her eyes returned to Remington, trying to sit up and unable to. "What's happened?" He knelt at the side of the bed so they were on the same eye level.

"You don't recall?" Her brows furrowed as she searched her memory for anything, anything at all. Remington's eyes darted to the doctor who gave a subtle shake of his head, indicating now was not the time. "We'll discuss it when your head's a bit more clear, hmmmm?" That she didn't even acknowledge the suggestion, spoke volumes. Instead, she seemed inordinately focused on fingering the lapel of his robe.

"I never thought I'd see the day Remington Steele appeared in public underdressed," she murmured. His bark of laughter came far more from relief than mirth. That she could still remain so insouciant after all she'd gone through... He bestowed a crooked smile on her.

"I'd beg to differ. Dressed for the occasion, I'd say."

"Mr. Steele, I'm sure your family is anxious for an update," Adams hinted. A pair of blue eyes regarded the other man, then he nodded reluctantly.

"You'll have someone get me as soon as she's been moved to her room?"

"Of course," Adams assured. Remington looked down in surprise as Laura's fingers gripped the lapel of his robe.

"Don't go." The vulnerability in her voice, the fear and uncertainty in her eyes, felt like a sucker punch to in the gut, and his breath caught in his throat. Pushing to his feet, he cupped a cheek in one hand, and bent down to rest his lips near her ear.

"I give you my word," he vowed, voice low, so no one but she could hear, "Once you're settled in your room, nothing short of an act of God will see me leave your side." He waited until she nodded her head in answer, then touched his lips to her cheek, allowed them to linger. With a final caress of her cheek, he turned and walked to the door of the recovery room, turning to look back over his shoulder at her.

He could only recall one other time in their association where she'd said those words to him, in that tone: the night her house had burned to the ground and she'd been left frightened, feeling utterly alone. With a deep, indrawn breath, he forced himself through the door and into the hallway.

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life, feeling in that in the simple act of complying to the physician's directive, he'd somehow failed her.

Again.

* * *

Remington had put the forty-minutes to good use, but still, by the time Laura was settled into her room, dawn had arrived. Dressed but unshaven, he updated Mildred and his father on Laura's condition, then saw them on their way, both promising to return during visiting hours. He called home and spoke with Melina, passing on news of Laura and inquiring after the children. For several minutes, he'd stood with his hand resting on the payphone before he walked away, knowing Laura would need time to digest the news before her mother descended upon her.

He'd kept to himself two salient points which he believed were Laura's, alone, to share… or not: that she'd no longer be able to carry a child, and the possible incompetency that had brought them to where they were.

He'd waited for the dam to break, for the tears to arrive, as Adams had explained the whole of all that had happened. Not that Laura cried as a matter of routine, by any means, but certainly if tears were ever called for, it was when you'd found out your life had been held in the balance for a bit, that your child bearing days were forever gone… and why. But she'd reminded him of the Laura of old, asking carefully constructed questions, logic and rationality guiding her way, while she firmly suppressed whatever it was she might be feeling. Even the news her expected stay in the hospital would be but a day, should no complications arise, had failed to bring a smile to her lips.

The only crack in her façade had come as they'd gone to sleep, when her hand had clutched his almost painfully. He'd said nothing, merely bussing the back of her knuckles, then laying their joined hands next to his head, where it lay near her hip.

They slept, he waking long before she. As he'd been prone to do throughout the early days of their marriage, he contented himself with simply watching her, occasionally fingering a lock of her hair. They were like cats, the pair of them, he concluded, but even cats only had nine lives. How many lives had they already used? Even more so, how many times had their lives been placed at risk, needlessly so?

And most importantly of all, how many more lives did they have left?

Was it age? There was a time, not so long ago, that the odds of being nicked by the coppers had been the only risk he'd considered, and, even in that, he'd often tossed caution to the wind. How very bold he'd been then, how…

Bloody arrogant.

The thrill, the adrenaline rush, the knowledge he'd done something most would either not brave or could not do… the reward. All those things had been the siren's call. But sometime over the last decade, as he'd grown, matured, the siren's voice had faded until it was merely a whisper, and new voice, growing louder with each passing year, took its place. The voice of reason? Maybe. But the risk to life, to health, had gradually usurped all other concerns.

Whose eyes was he trying to pull the wool over, he admitted with a wan smile. He brushed back a strand of hair off Laura's face with a pair of fingers. Taking her hand between both of his, he rested a bowed head against their joined hands, never even realizing she'd stirred. Now it was she who watched him, trying to divine what it was that had him so clearly troubled.

His life, he now recognized, could so easily be divided into two periods: Before her and after.

Before, he'd only been concerned with the creature comforts. A nut stored away for the future. A roof, increasingly sumptuous across the years, over his head. Good food. Great night life. An amusing tumble. But he'd been bound to none of it, all of it able to be replicated wherever next he landed.

And after? Her. A profession of meaning. A life of respect. A home. His father. A name. A family. Olivia. Now, Sophie and Holt. Irreplaceable, all of it.

He started when she drew her fingers through his hair. Reddened, troubled blue eyes met hers.

"Tell me," she requested. His eyes moved rapidly back and forth over her face, a shudder passing through him when he understood what she was asking.

"Laura, I don't see how—"

" _Tell me,_ " she insisted. He considered her at length, seeking a way out, but when her chin tilted slightly upwards, he only sighed.

"When I woke and you weren't there, I thought I hadn't heard the babe, had missed his feeding." He released her hand, still clasped between his, then stood and paced across the room, drawing his hands through his hair. "Laura, I don't—"

" _Tell me_ ," she insisted again, her hand fumbling for the bed controls, then raising the back until she was in a sitting position.

"What do you want to know?" he demanded anxiously. "How I—" His words abruptly ended when the door to the room swung inwards.

"Mommy!" Olivia cried out, squirming in Thomas's arms until he put her down. She scrambled up onto the bed and flung herself into Laura's waiting arms.

"Hi, baby," Laura greeted, quietly, stroking a hand down her daughter's long sleek hair then patting her back. Olivia pulled away and clasped Laura's cheeks in her hands.

"Is you better, Mommy?" she asked, with a tilt of her head.

"Are you better," Laura corrected automatically, smiling. " _I am_ ," she assured. "In fact, I'll even be home tomorrow."

"Sophie saided mommies don't come home," Olivia reported, clearly perplexed. Laura's eyes shifted to take in Sophie, thumb in her mouth, eyes wide, as she clung to Catherine's leg.

"Well, Livvie Bee, _sometimes_ Mommies don't come home," she clarified, her eyes holding Sophie's, "But _most_ of the time they do. And I _promise you,_ I _am_ coming home." Olivia nodded, seemingly satisfied, then threw herself at her father.

"Da! You weren't there when I wakeded up!" she chastised, while wrapping her arms around his neck. Bussing her on the forehead, he stood with her in his arms.

"I've seemed to make a habit of that of late, haven't I?" Livvie nodded gravely at him. "Well, I give you my word, beginning _tomorrow night_ , I'll be right where I belong each night for a long, long time."

"Sophie, do you think I might have a hug?" Laura asked, holding out a hand. Sophie's face crumpled and she darted across the room, and clamoring onto the bed, folded herself into Laura's waiting embrace. "It's okay, Soph. I'm okay," she whispered against the child's ear, a hand stroking her hair and back.

"Catherine," Remington brushed his lips against her cheek, then turned and embraced Thomas. "Father. Did Lina not accompany you?"

"She'll be along in a half hour or so. She's cooking a small feast for Laura and yourself." He indicated Sophie and Laura with a tilt of his head. "Catherine and I volunteered to take the children to school, but felt it imperative we bring the girls to see Laura before we did." Remington's brows lifted in surprise, with a glance at the bed, divining why that was.

"She's been like _this_ since we left?" he asked, astonished.

"Not like this," Catherine supplied. "Thoroughly withdrawn, I'm afraid." She looked at Laura and Sophie. "She needed to see Laura for herself, to let all the fear escape with her tears. She'll be all the better for it."

Remington looked from Olivia to Laura and Sophie, wondering how he'd have ever explained it if _this_ Mommy hadn't come home.


	15. Chapter 15: Signs

Chapter 15: Signs

On Sunday afternoon as Holt napped in his bassinette in the living room, Laura, Remington and their two girls napped in the hammock on the veranda. Or, more accurately, he and the girls continued napping, while Laura had roused several minutes before.

She wasn't surprised. Prior to her release, Dr. Adams had warned she might feel fatigued in upcoming days as her body continued its recovery. And she was, irritatingly so. That she wasn't sleeping well, when she did sleep, only added to that fatigue. Her dreams had suddenly become haunted with memories of those days and nights she'd been held captive by Roselli four years before, the anesthesia during surgery, she suspected, the trigger. The dreams were not as potent as they once were, but disturbing enough, nonetheless, to wake her with a gasp, a pounding heart.

Pressing a palm to her forehead, she focused on her breathing, while she silently cursed the day Anthony Roselli had entered their lives. She didn't need this right now. She had far too much to do already: recovering while caring for a newborn and two active pre-schoolers; the closing on the new house, the listing of their Holmby Hills home; and purchasing the furnishings for the new house. She'd decided that on Monday, she, Melina and Jocelyn would begin laying the groundwork for the foundation, despite her already packed days. And then, there's was Sophie's adoption.

Sophie. She looked down through her lashes at the little girl, who was sleeping tucked up against her. Since she'd come home from the hospital, Sophie hadn't let her out of her sight, as though afraid she'd disappear. Much like she'd done Roselli, she damned Castoro to perdition for all the harm he'd caused this little girl… and her own family. The sooner the man's parental rights were severed, the better, in her opinion. Sophie deserved the assurance of permanency that she so desperately needed.

"What's on your mind?" Remington asked. She turned her head and gave him a quiet smile.

"Sophie. I want her adoption finalized as quickly as possible, for her sake.

"Mmmmm," he hummed his agreement. "I was thinking much the same myself yesterday as we ran our errands. By the time we were done, she was a bundle of nerves. Didn't settle down until she saw you. Perhaps another call to your friend Milton is in order, hmmmm?"

"I'll call him once the girls wake," she agreed, carefully shifting to her side, to see him better. "Did you ever speak with Monroe about recommendations for a nanny?" The hammock swayed as he rolled to his side, rubbing Olivia's back soothingly until she nestled back against him, sticking a pair of fingers in her mouth.

"I haven't. I'll ring him up this evening. I imagine he'll need the details. Expectations, duties, and the like." She let out a puff of air.

"I don't want to be one of _those people_ ," she sighed.

"Those people?" he questioned, lifting his brows curiously. Absently, she reached across the girls and stroked his arm.

"The people that take the credit for being parents while someone else raises their children." He captured her hand and drew it up to his lips.

"Can you honestly conceive of that happening?" he posited. Their gazes held for several seconds, then with a slow blink of her eyes she composed her thoughts.

"I imagine we'll want to continue getting the girls up and to school, then," she answered, testing the waters.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he looked down pointedly at their daughter sleeping against him, "And neither would Livvie."

"And Holt will come to the office with us…" He chuckled quietly.

"I imagine Mrs. Wolf and Mildred would have our heads elsewise."

"Not to mention Marvin…" she noted, with a soft laugh. "And weekends?"

"Ours," he answered firmly, drawing a smile of approval from her.

"So, Monday through Friday, three p.m. until we get home and all day on school holidays," she summarized.

"We might wish to add, some evenings, as required," he suggested. "Mildred and Frances may not always be available when we wish to go out, and there are times we've business to conduct of an evening."

"You're right," she acknowledged.

"Attributes?"

"Mature. Dependable." she began ticking off the points one at a time. "Diligent. Energetic. Patient. Intelligent. Creative. Articulate. Valid driver's license. Clean driving record. Clean background check. Reliable transportation."

"I'll pass it along." He weaved his fingers with hers, whilst studying her face. "How are you feeling?" She shrugged a shoulder.

"A little on the tired side," she raised her brows at him, "But given we've just slept the afternoon away, that shouldn't be too surprising."

"I could always stay home tomorrow," he offered.

"No, no. That's not necessary. Melina will be here. Jocelyn as well, for that matter. I'm sure between the three of us, we can hold the fort down."

"Still, it's only been a few days since…" He swallowed down the lingering twinges of panic. "I'd feel better if—"

"We've neglected the Agency long enough," she insisted in that voice that brooked no argument. "Mildred's done well enough, but it's _our_ Agency, Remington." It was the opening he needed.

"Laura, do you remember a few years back," he searched his mind, "After Dancer and Wally reeked momentary havoc in our lives, I believe it was, what I asked you about this line of work?"

* * *

" _ **You know, Laura, we've been so-busy lately, exploring and defining our personal relationship that we've taken the professional side for granted. It's not until something like this comes along to force one to re-evaluate."**_

 _ **"What exactly are we re-evaluating?"**_

 _ **"Like, do you intend to pursue this line of work for the rest of your life?"**_

* * *

"Of course. Something about 'feeding the little tykes breakfast' then rushing off to a nice 'juicy murder'," she recalled fondly.

"And now that we have children?" he carefully tread. "Have you given it any thought?"

"What's there to think about?" she wondered aloud, the look on her face saying she was truly puzzled. "We've been doing well enough and Livvie certainly hasn't suffered for it. In fact, I'd say just the opposite. She's a happy, well-adjusted little girl who knows she is loved beyond reason by both her parents."

"That she is," he agreed, retreating. He'd need some irrefutable arguments before he pursued the topic further. "On another note, have you given any thought on the vehicle you'd like to replace the Jeep?" She let out a frustrated puff of air.

"As much as I hate to admit it, another Jeep is simply no longer practical," she answered. "I like the Explorer, but I'd prefer a white exterior, leather interior, preferably tan."

"Perhaps we should pick up a pair then, hmmmm?" Her lips parted in surprise.

"You want to sell the M3?" He pursed his lips.

"No, I think—"

"Remington, do you ever wonder how we got here?" she pondered aloud. He raised his head to look at her.

"What do you mean?" Questioning blue eyes searched her face.

"It wasn't so long ago that I was just starting the Agency, building its reputation, determined to stand on my own two feet and take on the world. And you? You were traveling the world…" she glanced down at the girls and tempered her words, "…doing what you did. And now? Married, three children, homes all over the world. You," she flicked her head, "An Earl, me a Countess. Sometimes it seems like it was only yesterday that we were these… other… people. How did we get _here_ , preparing to move to a new house at the beach, figuring out how to furnish that house, what vehicles to buy?" His eyes glimmered with a smile and he lifted her knuckles to his lips.

"Through a lot of hard work and with a great deal of luck, I'd say." He reclaimed her and lay back down, staring up at the sky. "Ah, Laura, have you any idea what it's like? To have no one, to belong to no one, to believe you hadn't a right to what it seemed everyone else had? A home, family? Yet—"

"Here we are," she concluded for him. He turned his head and gave her a dazzling smile.

"Here we are," he confirmed, then returned his eyes to the sky above. "I never imagined I'd know my father, but I do. And the children? There was a time I was determined I'd never father a child, under any circumstances, yet I've done just that… twice over now. Generations of family, when I once thought I was forever destined to have none a'tall. " He swiveled his head to look at her again, emotion darkening his blue eyes. "However it is we've gotten here? Whatever it took, I'd do it all over again."

"You mean that, don't you?" He merely lifted his brows in answer. With that, she put her thoughts aside… for now. "Should we discuss furnishings for the new house?"

"Let's."

It was only months later that Remington would realize their conversation that afternoon was the first indication all was not well in the world of the Steele's.


	16. Chapter 16: Moving Preparations

Chapter 16: Moving Preparations

In the wink of an eye, three weeks blazed past, and the time had come, at last, for the Steele family to move into their beach home.

Preparing for that move, alone, would have been enough to keep the average couple busy. With time on her hands, given her maternity leave, Laura had insisted on handling all but two details herself, although she and Remington discussed, at length, each of her ideas, tweaking them here and there as necessary to reflect their mutual tastes. The formal living room would be a mixture of white and grays, with black coffee and end tables, and splashes of red in throw pillows and drapes to bring the room to life.

Olivia's room would move to the house, as is, including the additional dresser and bed they'd purchased for Sophia. She purchased a white area rug, woven with a delicate pattern of vined roses, and matching white, lace drapes with the same rose pattern embroidered into them. Given the size of Olivia's new bedroom, a desk, which would serve her well in years to come, was also purchased.

She started from scratch in Sophie's room, purchasing two twin beds, a bedside table to position between the two, along with dresser and mirror, a six-drawer tall chest, desk and chair. For a little girl who loved Disney princesses, the white French provincial furnishings gave the room a Cinderella feel, yet could stand the test of time as she grew from a child to a young woman. For Sophie, white sheers embroidered with lilacs hung at the windows, a white area rug to match, fluffy down comforters, and lilac colored throw pillows to add another splash of color. The painters were directed to paint the walls a soft, French lilac in honor of Sophie's favorite color, purple.

More contractors had been hired to remove the carpeting and install hardwood floors, mirrors and a barre in Remington and Laura's studio, while the painters would turn the walls the most muted of grays. The contractors would also be responsible for the removal of the theater seating in the screening room, while Laura purchased additional furnishing to match those in their current 'movie room' to round out the room. A viewing room, it might be, but her partner and husband enjoyed stretching out his long, lean frame comfortably as he watched the film play out before him. The guest room walls were painted and a king bed, two dressers, two night stands and a chaise were purchased.

The former game room was stripped, the walls painted, and a mural of children at play on the beach was installed. While she would have loved that wall to be drawn by Remington's own hand, the simple reality was he was simply too swamped with overseeing the Agency, identifying homes that would suit the foundation's needs and handling those two details he'd been adamant about overseeing himself. Shelving and a toy box was installed, a table and chair set – perfect for tea parties for two little girls – was purchased, along with an easel should the children have the inclination to paint. Last, but not least, Laura had created a 'dress up' area in the room, filled with various princess costumes, shoes, play jewelry and hair decorations.

The outdoor furniture from their Holmby Hills home took up residence around the fire pit and on the main deck, while a half dozen Adirondack style lounge chairs and matching tables were lined up at the edge of the deck nearest the beach, where the view could be most enjoyed. The outside took on the warm, cozy feel that simply invited guests to sit down and let any tension seep away. Finally, a safety gate was installed around the pool, with two non-swimmers now in the home.

As for those two remaining details Remington had taken charge of? He'd seen to the purchase of the furnishings for the billiard/poker room, and had devoted countless hours to designing a state-of-the-art security system for the home that would keep his family safe. Laura had not been overly enthused about the latter, and had on more than one occasion cast a queer look at his back while he discussed the alarm system, but she'd, surprisingly, held her tongue. Until, that is, she'd arrived at the house the Wednesday before they were to move in, to find a stone half wall, topped with a wrought iron fence along the street front of the property, and a key-coded wrought iron entry gate standing open at the end of their driveway.

She'd stared, disbelievingly, mouth agape, at the gate for long seconds, before yanking up the receiver of the car phone and dialing the office.

"The Remington Steele Agency. Bernice Hawke speaking. How can I help you?" Bernice greeted when she picked up the other end of the line.

"Bernice, it's Laura. Is Mr. Steele in?" she asked, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel in irritation.

"Sure is," Bernice confirmed. "He and Mildred are behind closed doors going over her team's findings in the Coffin matter."

"Put me through, if you don't mind," Laura directed.

"No, problem." Placing Laura on hold, Bernice pressed the button for the intercom in Remington's office.

"Yes, Mrs. Wolf?" Bernice's eyelid twitched at the greeting, but couldn't help the smirk on her face as she announced…

"Laura's on line two for you."

"Can you tell her I'll call her back once Mildred and I are through?" he requested, distractedly. "Shouldn't be but twenty minutes, maybe thirty."

"It's your neck," she answered, smugly, smile widening. In his office, Remington dropped his feet to the floor and sat up straight. The unholy glee in Bernice's voice coupled with her words, set off alarm bells, as she'd meant for them to. Across from him, Mildred guffawed. Without thought, he punched at line one, cutting off Bernice and connecting with Laura.

"Steele, here."

"I can't count how many times I have looked the other way when you've come up with one of your hairbrained ideas, Mr. Steele." He grimaced and lifted a hand to his mouth to gnaw at a thumb nail, trying to discern exactly what it was he'd done. "When you tried to sneak a thoroughbred polo pony past me, I let that go. 'Now, Laura,' I told myself, 'As long as he spends time with the horse, plays polo often enough to justify the expenses associated with stabling, feeding, and vetting the horse, you can let this one go.'" He considered reminding her said horse was a gift from his newly found father, but decided now might not be the time to do so. "When you turned our daughter's first birthday into a circus, in more ways than one, I told myself 'Laura, most women would kill to have a husband so devoted to their child. It's alright. Lesson learned.'" He wisely chose not to point out she'd forbade him from ever planning another party for Olivia. "'When you bought our two-year-old – our _two-year-old_ – a sapphire and platinum bracelet, I reminded myself, 'Laura, he never had a true Christmas as a child. So, he got carried away. Let him have this. _'"_ Honestly, how was he to know Laura – _Laura –_ would be able to tell the difference between sterling silver and platinum, real sapphires and glass? _"_ When you snatched Olivia from her classroom on her first day of pre-school, and hid her _from me_ , I said 'Laura, he's merely concerned no one can take care of Olivia as well as we can. No harm done.'" He vividly recalled the threats made to his person should he attempt such again. "When you proclaimed the mall Santa was a degenerate who was eyeing our three-year-old with too much interest, then proceeded to turn our backyard – our _California backyard_ , might I add - into a winter wonderland replete with its own Santa _in a sleigh_ , I said "It's okay, Laura. Olivia is having a wonderful time. So, he got carried away… _again_. Let it go.'" His brow lifted, as he recalled it was her banishment from the mall that had led to both the comment meant to comfort her as well as that particular little affair. "But this time, Mr. Steele, this time you've gone too far!" He chewed even more vigorously at his nail, trying to figure out what it was he'd gone too far with, but knew better to ask. Placating, effusive apologies, solicitude, a bit of charm… any or all of these needed to be employed in such times.

"Now, Laura—"

"Don't you 'Now, Laura,' me, Remington Chalmers Steele!" she cut him off. "Just tell me this: Have you recently taken a blow to your head? Taken temporary leave of your senses? Or is this a sign that you've finally gone irretrievably off the deep end?"

"Lau—"

"We aren't the Spelling's, Spielberg's or the Sterling's. We are _the Steele's_ ," she continued to rant. "There are no crazed fans, despite how highly you think of yourself, who will be camping out on our doorstep. The paparazzi won't be lining up in our drive to sneak a picture of our private moments." A pained look painted his face as understanding dawned. " _We do_ _not_ need a gate on our driveway!"

"I disagree," he refuted, his own temper piquing a bit at the reference to his vanity. "One more barricade between our home and the likes of Gabriel Castoro, the better." In the car, her head plopped backwards against the head rest and she began to knead her brow as she reminded herself she'd once praised the very protective instinct that was responsible for the hunk of decorative metal before her right now.

"Remington, listen to yourself," she advised, anger fizzling and weariness taking its place, "How are you going to keep people like Castoro away from our home? We're moving to the _beach._ You can't secure the beachfront, the water, so there will always be another way in."

"That may be so, but it will take the buggers more effort than just driving up to our front door, won't it now?" he countered. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and closed her eyes.

"No more, understood? I don't want our children growing up with the memory of living in a fortress, and I don't think you do either."

"You know I don't," he agreed. She let out a puff of air, conceding what was done was done.

"I'll see you tonight." Without another word, she hung up the phone and put the SUV in gear then navigated the driveway to the house.

In his office, Remington let out a heavy sigh of his own. Hanging up the phone, he leaned back in his chair and scrubbed at his face with his hands.

"In hot water with the missus?" Mildred asked, drawing a rueful look from him but no words. "What'd you do this time, Boss?"

"Nothing more than had a security gate installed on the new property," he answered as he stood, walked to the window and stared out at the skyline.

"Didn't confer with Mrs. Steele first, huh?" He swiveled his head, looked at her then returned his gaze to the scene outside.

"We agreed I'd handle security on our home, much as I do for the Agency," he shrugged. He lifted his hand then dropped it in frustration before striding back to his chair and resting jaw on fisted hand while propping his feet up on the desk. He gave Mildred a woebegone look. "She seems to believe the measure was more about pretention than it was safety." He gave his head a short shake. "We've been assaulted, shot, held hostage, kidnapped from our own homes, too often to count, more than I wish to remember. How many more times do we need before we get it through our thick heads, as Laura would say, that we need to take steps to protect our children, ourselves?" he asked.

"I'm betting based on that conversation," she looked pointedly at the phone, "She doesn't agree?"

"Ah, Mildred, you know how Laura is. On the best of days to suggest we can't depend entirely on ourselves to stave off whatever may come our way would be seen as a personal affront on her capabilities." Perceptive, as always, she picked up on what he wasn't saying.

"I take it these aren't the best of days?" she asked. He stood and returned to the window, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don't think I need to point out things haven't precisely been routine of late," he answered. "Castoro, the babe arriving early, Laura's illness. Then in the last weeks, preparing the house for the move, setting up the foundation, Sophie's adoption. She's exhausted and her temper's short."

"Busy weekend ahead," Mildred noted. "Finalization today, moving on Friday, a birthday party on Sunday. Maybe after…"

"Maybe," he sighed, then again resumed his seat. "Shall we get back to business?" She gave a sharp nod.

"We noticed several anomalies in Coffin's financials…"

* * *

Laura hauled the last of the boxes into the house and plopped it down on the kitchen counter. All week she'd been making it a point to pack the Explorer tight with each trip to the house. As a couple who preferred a home devoid a clutter, there would be little left to move on Friday except for their furnishings. Tonight, after the finalization of Sophie's adoption, they would have dinner with the company of Frances and family at Chucky E. Cheese, much to Remington's horror, although he pretended joviality for the sake of the girls. Then, tomorrow evening, Remington would grill out for the final time at their Holmby Hills home, given the last of his kitchen wares had just arrived with her at Casa Malaga. It would be up to him to store things as he wished, so for now, she turned her attention to the girls' rooms, beginning in Olivia's first.

While opening the first box, the corner of her mouth quirked upwards. Remington had apparently come by the house some time before arriving home the evening prior, for his sketches of Olivia were now positioned on the wall between the two beds in her room. With a short, pleased laugh, she unpacked the remains of Livvie's clothing hanging it in the closet and laying the remainder on Livvie's new desk to be put away when the rest of her furniture arrived the following day. When finished, she broke down one box and placed it inside the other, then set both outside the bedroom door in the hall.

She came to a halt when she stepped into Sophie's room, and stared at the wall between the beds in Sophie's room. She laughed aloud, then stepped forward to examine the two renderings by Remington's hand that hung there. The first was a picture of Sophie cuddled up in Laura's lap as they read a book together. He'd caught Sophie's rapture with the story to perfection. And the second? A reflection of a drawing that had hung on Olivia's wall for a year now: Sophie at the barre in her soon-to-be parents' studio, her blonde hair up in a bun, she in a leotard and tights, her face a study of concentration as she pliéd. When he had managed to finish the portraits, she'd no idea, but she knew it was meant to be a surprise for her.

Crossing her arms in front of her body, she rubbed at them, then blew out a soft puff of breath before turning her attention to unpacking Sophie's belongings. Unlike Olivia's room, Sophie's was complete, her new furniture having been delivered at the beginning of the week. As she hung clothes, filled dresser drawers, she mulled her husband.

Years before, as they'd cared for little Caruso, she'd dared to speculate he'd make a good father one day, while he'd feigned disinterest. The truth of the matter was he wasn't a 'good' father, but a truly remarkable one, parenthood coming easily to him from the very start. It was no secret Olivia's favorite person on the planet was her father, and that was okay with Laura. Remington's relaxed, gentle nature tempered their daughter's naturally high-strung personality. No matter how sad, how angry, how out of sorts she became, his steady presence calmed her… and her greatest joy was spending her special time with her Da: in the mornings when she woke, in the evenings when they made meals; and, during their weekend errands. Oliva felt safe, secure in her father's love… as Laura had once with her own father, before he'd left.

Holt, at one month, seemed content with whoever's attention he captured. Oh, she'd briefly been his favorite when she was his walking meal, but she'd begun weening him at two weeks and now he was on a bottle full time. Changings, feedings, bedtime routines, all were met with happy grunts, more recently, occasional coos, whether it was she, his father, or Thea Lina caring for him. In fact, outside of mid-night feeding calls, she couldn't recall a single time he'd cried. He was a remarkably happy baby who felt secure in his little world.

As for their little Sophie? There was no denying Sophie had attached herself to Laura seeing her new mother as her safety and security. When the nightmares came – and they still did – it was into Laura's embrace she'd enfold herself. It was to Laura she'd race when she returned when Laura came home from work of an evening. It was with Laura that she'd sit at the piano, dance at the barre… to whom she'd curl up next to for story time. But much like her soon-to-be younger sibling, Sophie enjoyed errand days, morning routines and mealtime preparations with Remington. He'd shown her over the course of the last two months that men can have a soft hand and quick smile, could say a kind word in a gentle voice, that their eyes could look on a child not with malice but with a twinkle of mischief lighting them.

It had been of no surprise to Laura that the week prior Sophie had begun referring to Remington as Da. The timing couldn't have been better. Sophie had spent a lifetime hungering for a father's love, and as of this afternoon, Remington's role in her life would be legalized and she'd know that abiding love the rest of her life.

With a final brush over her hand to remove a wrinkle from the coverlet of Sophie's bed, Laura deposited the emptied broken box into the hallway with the others, before stepping into Livvie's bathroom where she began emptying the bags of linens and accessories she'd purchased the afternoon before. Pink towels, white washcloths with pink rosebuds, pink bath mat, white shower curtain with pink rosebuds, similar to Livvie's. With a nod of final approval, she gathered empty bags, those empty boxes and went downstairs. With the exception of filling the drawers of furniture when it arrived, the upstairs was complete.

With a little bit of diligence on her and Remington's parts Friday evening and Saturday afternoon, they'd be ready to host Sophia's birthday party on Sunday afternoon. But for now, it was time to go home where she could spend some precious time with her son before she and Melina began interviewing candidates for the foundation's attorney.


	17. Chapter 17: Legalities

Chapter 17: Legalities

Remington reached for Laura's hand and wove their fingers together, the normally suave man tapping a heel nervously as they waited for Judge McCord to enter the courtroom. Laura, as nervous as she was, couldn't imbibe in jitters of her own, as Sophie sat in her lap and she stroked the little girl's arm soothingly while Abernathy spoke with the child.

"Sophia, last week you visited me in my office, do you remember that?" Abernathy questioned softly. Sophie nodded her head, the thumb in her mouth following the bobble of her head. "Do you remember I told you the _very nice_ judge would have some questions for you today?" Another bob of the head followed. "When the judge—" Abernathy's words broke off when a door swung open and bailiff called…

"All rise…" The remainder of the words were a blur as Remington and Laura rose to their feet, the latter placing Sophia on hers as Judge McCord walked through the door then took her seat. "Be seated."

A good deal of scuffling filled the air of the courtroom as those gathered in the gallery took their seats as well. The Steele's and Sophia were in good company during the finalization hearing with Melina, Mildred and Rusty as well as the entire Piper family, sans college student Danny, present. Thomas and Catherine had regretfully begged off as Catherine was under the weather but had vowed to be at Sophie's birthday celebration that weekend.

The entire Steele family had dressed for confidence: Remington in a new, navy two-button classic fit suit, with a crisp white shirt and navy tie, complimenting Laura's own navy blue skirt suit that nipped in at the waist, accenting her slender form. Livvie and Sophie were dressed alike in matching navy sailor dresses with crisp white collars and trim, white tights, red dress shoes, and the front of their hair pinned back with a navy bow. The family would stop by the Agency to change into more casual clothes for the Chucky E. Cheese celebration.

"Charles Prescott, representing the plaintiff, Gabriel Castoro," the attorney at the other table announced, then seated himself as Abernathy stood.

"Gloria Abernathy representing the Respondents, Laura and Remington Steele, Your Honor." The judge's eyes skimmed one of the documents before her.

"Mr. Prescott, let's just get right to this, shall we?" McCord began, as she scrawled her name across the document before her. "Paternity tests have substantiated Mr. Castoro's claim that he is the biological father of the minor child, Sophia Alexis Jensen." She looked over the rim of her glasses at Prescott. "In light of the evidence presented to this Court, coupled with recent events, the Court finds it is in the best interest of the child for Gabriel Castoro's parental rights be terminated." She handed the document to the bailiff. "The Clerk will provide copies for your client. You're dismissed, Mr. Prescott."

Opposing counsel offered not a word in his client's defense. After all, what could he say? His client had, after all, engaged in systematic emotional and mental abuse of his child and her mother, had solicited the murder of his child's mother, then had attempted to have his own child eliminated to prevent her from revealing what she'd seen the night of her mother's death. Placing the documents in his briefcase, he stood and left the courtroom.

Abernathy indicated the family should rise to stand in front of the bench. McCord stood and came down to stand before them, so as not to intimidate the little blonde, and held out her hand to her.

"Sophie, my name is Judge McCord. I'm so very pleased to finally meet you." Sophie's eyes flitted upwards to Laura.

"It's okay, sweetie," Laura encouraged. Sophie tentatively reached out and took the judge's hand.

"Thank you," she answered, shyly.

"Sophie, Mr. and Mrs. Steele tell me they would like to adopt you," the McCord, remarked as she let go of the little girl's hand then stooped down to her eye level. The flash of a camera went off in the room. "Do you know what that means?" Sophie nodded.

"They'll be my Mommy and Da?" she answered, questioningly.

"Yes, that _is_ what it means. Would you like that?" McCord asked. Sophie's green eyes regarded her solemnly, as she nodded her head emphatically.

"And Livvie would be my sister and the baby my brother?"

"Our two children," Laura clarified, in case the judge had any questions.

"Yes, they would be exactly that," the judge confirmed. "A new baby in the house must be _very_ exciting."

"He scrunches up his face," Sophie demonstrated, "And goes…" she grunted twice "…a lot. Livvie and me get to help bring him his passie and nappies." A goofy smile spread across Remington's face at Sophie's use of the British reference to diapers.

"Livvie and I, sweetie," Laura corrected gently, giving the little girl's hand a soft squeeze, as McCord laughed.

"Well, what big helpers you and Livvie are," McCord praised, then standing to her full height indicated the family could return to their seats while she did the same. The sounds of people shifting in their seats could be heard in the courtroom as the judge returned to her desk, scrawling her name several times on the documents before her. She looked up at she passed the bailiff the signed papers. "I would like to say it is an honor to finalize the adoption of Sophia Alexis Jensen by Remington and Laura Steele." Abernathy scanned the paperwork placed in her hands, then nodded her head in approval, passing an already complete copy to the Steele's, along with the piece of paper Remington had once coveted for himself more than any other:

Sophie's birth certificate.

Laura batted her eyes furiously when she felt the familiar tingling behind them which indicated threatening tears, although these were most certainly of joy. A glance in Remington's direction confirmed he was no less equally effected, his blue eyes bright and his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed his emotions.

"Do you know what this says, Soph?" Laura asked, placing the paper before her new daughter, and leaning her head down next to hers.

"No," Sophie replied with a shake of her head.

"It says your name is now Sophia Alexis Steele, and that we…" she reached for Remington's hand, "…are now your parents." Sophie merely gave her a toothy grin then scrambled away as Livvie pushed through the gate of the gallery, the rest of the family following behind.

"Can we go to Chucky E. Cheese now?" Livvie pleaded, her large blue eyes on her father, completely oblivious to what had just taken place.

"Judge McCord, would you mind taking a picture with the family?" Frances requested, camera in hand and at the ready.

"It would be my pleasure," the judge agreed.

"Soon. Very, very soon, a stór," Remington answered his daughter, with a tap of his finger to her nose. "But first, it seems, Aunt Frances is demanding we pose for pictures."

Obediently, Laura and Remington took their place on either side of the judge, Laura taking Holt from Melina's arms, then positioning the girls in front of the trio of adults. Frances then insisted on a picture of Remington holding Sophie in front of the bench, followed by Laura, then another with the Piper clan, and finally, with the judge playing camera man, a group pictures of the Steeles, Mildred, Melina and the Piper family. Only then did Frances concede they could leave the courtroom.

"Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele, if you wouldn't mind," the judge called to them. Automatically their eyes went to the girls.

"It's alright," Frances assured, "Donald and I will take the girls downstairs. You two go speak with the judge." They watched as the girls happily skipped down the aisle and out of the courtroom, Melina, holding Holt, following up the rear.

"Your Honor?" Laura inquired.

"I've come to realize the great peril you put yourselves and your family in to keep Sophia safe. I admire you for all you did."

"We merely did what anyone else would," Remington answered, humbly.

"Sadly, we both know that's not true, don't we, Mr. Steele?" McCord countered. "Sophia's lucky to have the pair of you in her corner."

"And she always will have." He offered the judge his hand. "Your Honor." They exchanged handshakes, then Laura offered her own.

"Thank you, Your Honor."

With that the couple left the courtroom, as the judge's admiring eyes watched them depart. It wasn't often that McCord would be willing to stake all she owned on her a child who came through her court would live an idyllic childhood, given the frailties of both the system and human beings. But she would do exactly that when it came to Sophia Steele.

* * *

Laura, Remington, Frances, Donald, Melina, Mildred and Rusty relaxed at the table nibbling pizza and conversing, Mindy and Laurie Beth having volunteered to keep an eye out over the children as they played in the inside playground, while Holt slept soundly in Remington's arm.

"Have you found a nanny yet, Laura?" Frances wondered. Laura gave her sister a rueful look.

"We've interviewed a half dozen people from different agencies so far, but no luck."

"Well, maybe you're just being too finicky, Laura. Did you ever consider that?" Frances suggested.

"I'd have to say I don't believe that to be the case," Remington disagreed. "Our list of requirements, as well as demands, is actually quite short, but we've yet to find anyone –"

"Who checks all the boxes," Laura finished for him. "We don't want someone to monitor the children, we want someone like… like—"

"Someone much like Lina," he offered. His sister looked at him, surprised, a pleased smile lighting her face.

"There was a time, Xenos, such a compliment would not have come from you were I was concerned," Lina observed.

"I'd dare to say that's more a reflection of who you've become across the years, mikrí̱ aderfí̱," he retorted fondly. "You're no longer quite the kakomathi̱méno paidí you once

"Kakomathi̱méno paidí?" she asked, laughter in her voice. "I should inform Christoff and Zeth how you speak of me."

"To what end?" he challenged, openly laughing. "They'd merely agree with me." She snorted, and crossing her arms around herself tipped up her nose at him, feigning affront.

"Και να σκεφτεί κανείς, υπήρχε μια εποχή ήσουν αγαπημένο αδελφό μου." He quirked an amused brow at her.

"Και εξακολουθώ να μην είμαι?" he answered, smugly. The corners of her mouth twitched with suppressed laughter.

"Σκέφτεστε πολύ τον εαυτό σας," she dismissed, then thought to add, "Πάντα έχετε.

Three heads had swiveled back and forth between the pair during the interchange, while Laura tuned them out and made a visual check of the children.

"Remington, exactly how many languages do you speak?" Donald wondered aloud, flabbergasted at the ease with which he apparently spoke Greek fluently.

"Don't bother asking," Laura drawled. "After eight years, even I'm not sure how many. Full disclosure would interfere with that 'air of mystery' he so enjoys." A pair of bright blue eyes alighted on her, as he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I believe I assured you shortly before we wed you knew all of my secrets," he reminded her. She laughed softly, and raised her brows at him.

"I guess we'll see. But if we ever travel to Japan and you start speaking with the locals…" She left the remainder of the sentence unsaid, then turned to her sister, returning to the original topic. "Monroe believes he's found us the perfect person for the job." She lifted her shoulder and dropped it, in an affect much like Remington often used. "We'll see."

"What do you know about her?" Frances pursued. Laura looked at Remington indicating he should answer, since he'd spoken to Monroe about the woman.

"She's twenty-five years old," he began rattling off. "She has been working in one of our stores since eighty-five. She's been offered any number of promotions, each of which she's turned down in pursuit of her education. Her father abandoned the family when she was ten, returning to Guatemala she believes, and her mother was killed in an automobile accident when she was sixteen, at which time she left school and began to work, assisting her two older siblings financially as they'd taken on the care of her younger brothers. She completed her GED five years ago, and enrolled in night classes at the community college," he continued. "She earned her Associates Degree two years past and is currently attending California State University Northridge in the evenings, majoring in Accounting. A position with us would allow her to attend school full-time during the day, while she completes her Bachelor's then Master's degrees."

"Well, I don't see how that's possible," Frances commented, confused. "If she's taking care of the children how will she go to school during the day?"

"The girls are in preschool until three and Holt will be at the Agency with Remington and me," Laura stepped in.

"In that case, I don't see why you need a nanny at all," Frances sniffed. "I mean, really, Laura, couldn't you just do it yourself?"

"I have a _job_ , Frances," Laura reminded her. Her sister gave her an exasperated look.

"Remington's the boss, surely he wouldn't—" Laura's hackles rose at that.

"We are _both_ in charge of the Agency, Frances," she answered snootily, "And _very_ involved in all aspects of running the Agency, including investigations. I can't just 'take off' whenever I wish." Mildred's eyes shifted back and forth between the two women, and chose to jump into the mix, trying to defuse a potentially volatile conversation, if the look on Laura's face was any indication of what might happen.

"You know, kids, I was just thinking to myself the other day: At this rate, the two of you will have a half-dozen children by your tin anniversary," she laughed. Remington watched as Laura's face blanked. He reached for her hand under the table, only to have her yank it away. "Who'da thought, not so long ago, that the two of you would not only finally get it right, but would have _three children_ before your fifth anniversary _?_ "

"Yes, well," Remington cleared his throat, then continued, "I can assure you this is it for us, Mildred. Frank Beardsley and Helen North, Laura and I are not."

"I'm going to check on the girls," Laura announced abruptly, then stood and left the table.

"Frank and Helen who?" Donald asked, puzzled.

"Don't ask," Lina and Mildred advised simultaneously, only it was too late.

" _Yours, Mine and Ours,_ Henry Fonda, Lucille Ball, Desilu Productions, 1968," Remington recited. "A widower with ten children falls in love with then marries a woman with eight children of her own, only for fate to unexpectedly blessed with another child."

"Oh, my," Frances breathed. "Nineteen children? As much as I enjoy motherhood, I can't imagine…" Donald shifted his chair closer to his wife, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Speaking of children, Frannie and I have some news of our own," he announced, then turned his head to look at Remington, "Inspired by Laura and yourself, actually."

"Oh? How so?" Remington inquired, his interest piqued as much by the look on the couple's faces as the words themselves.

"We have an appointment with Maryvale on Monday, actually, to begin the process of adopting a child," his brother-in-law grinned, while giving Frances's arm an affectionate rub. "With Danny off to college and Mindy soon to follow, we have the room. And as Frannie just said, we love being parents, so why not open up our home to a child who needs it?"

"Maryvale?" Mildred asked.

"An orphanage over in Rosemead," Donald provided. "If we can give even one child a loving home, make a difference in their lives, as Laura and Remington have done for Sophie, how can we not?" Remington leaned across the table and offered Donald his hand. Once handshakes were exchanged, he took Frances hand and bussed the back of it.

"A child should be so fortunate as to find a home with your family," he told them, sincerely. "And the children? How do they feel about the family expansion?" Donald laughed warmly.

"Danny and Mindy told us to 'go for it.'" He flicked a hand at the air. "Typical teens. Laurie Beth is excited by the idea, but has one condition…"

"Condition?" Melina asked, curious. Never would she or her brothers dare to place a condition on a matter her parents had decided on. Donald turned his head and looked at her when answering.

"She is tired of being the 'little sister'. So whoever it is, girl or boy, they have to be younger than her." Everyone at the table broke out in laughter.

"So, Remington, are the girls excited about the new house?" Donald inquired, in a change of subject. Remington frowned, thoughtfully.

"I don't imagine they're quite old enough to envision what it is about to happen," he pondered. "I suppose we'll find out in a couple of days, hmmmm?"

* * *

Despite Remington's reticence about Chucky E. Cheese, the evening had gone well enough. Sophie and Olivia had enjoyed themselves, played hard, and were asleep in the car within minutes of beginning the drive home. The conversation between the adults had been pleasant enough, with a few surprises announced and much laughter. Laura had even rejoined the table some twenty minutes after she'd left to check on the girls, acting, when she returned, as though nothing amiss. The ride home, however, said elsewise, as she stared mutely out the passenger window at the much of nothing.

They'd worked as a team getting Sophie and Livvie ready for bed, then Holt before settling down in Remington's movie room, she reviewing where their investigators stood on two new cases, he – inspired by Donald's revelation that evening – watching _Yours, Mine and Ours_. Several times throughout the evening, she interrupted his viewing to ask pertinent questions about the cases. But, unlike the vast majority of their evenings together, when finished with her work, she didn't set the files aside, then move to curl up with him and watch the end of the movie, but instead announced she was going to bed.

An hour later, he found her reclining in bed, garbed in his pajama shirt, reading one of the questionable novels she enjoyed, dog earing a page and laying it on her nightstand after he'd showered and joined her beneath the covers. Turning off the lamp, she curled up on her side, facing the outside of the bed. Undeterred, he joined her, spooning his front to her back, and lying an arm around her waist. He rubbed her stomach with his hand.

"Sophie Steele, hmm?" he murmured as an opening to what he hoped to discuss.

"Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" she smiled, stroking a hand down his arm then tangling their fingers together.

"Almost as nice as Laura Steele," he mused, "Though the last was far more difficult to make reality than the first." She squeezed the hand held in hers but said nothing in answer. "Laura…"

"Yes?"

"Now that the legal niceties regarding Sophie have been resolved, perhaps it's time we address… other matters," he suggested.

" _What_ 'other matters' might those be?" He felt the subtle stiffening of her petite frame but forged ahead anyway.

"Pursuing legal remedies for the injury you suffered at the hands of a man who was negligent, at best, thoroughly incompetent, at worse." Her brow furrowed, nose crinkled and eyes closed as she bit down on her lip. Finally, she shook her head, and spoke.

"I don't want that," she disagreed. "Money isn't the solution to everything. It can put a roof over your head, food on your stomach, clothes on your back. Everything you always deserved… and didn't have for a long time. But it can't turn back time..." she sighed, forlornly "… or change the cost paid." He pressed up on an elbow and looked down at her, thoroughly affronted that she'd believe he'd wished to profit by the harm done her. He frowned, when he saw her placid face, closed eyes, parted lips. To anyone else, she'd appear to be nothing more than a woman falling asleep. Experience with this particular woman told him she was hiding, and, for now at least, pursuing the matter would only push her further away.

With a shake of his head, he lay back down.

He'd leave it alone…

For now.


	18. Chapter 18: The Nanny

Chapter 18: The Nanny

"Please, have a seat," Laura offered the young lady who'd been shown to Remington's office by Bernice. "Can I offer you some coffee, tea?"

"A glass of water?" Laura looked to Bernice, who nodded her head and shut the door behind her. As the young woman took a seat in one of the chairs, Laura quickly assessed the girl across from her as Remington and she sat down next to one another on the couch. To say she was beautiful would be an understatement: Tall, svelte, with dark hair that hung to nearly her waist, in Laura's assessment she could have easily been a model… was, in fact, the type of woman, based on looks alone, that would have once been very much, with a bit of refinement. But what most struck Laura were the young woman's large, expressive, brown eyes that reflected intelligence, determination and kindness.

She liked her already.

"So, tell us about yourself," Remington opened, splaying his palms up before him.

"My name is Mirabella Zacapa," she answered in a warm voice. "I am twenty-five years old. I have been working for Mr. Monroe at the Sepulveda store for five-and-a-half years. I have six brothers and sisters: Fatima, Arlin, Iliana, Geovanni, Julissa and Caramia. I was born in Los Angeles and have lived her my entire life." She stopped speaking when the office door opened and Bernice returned with a tray of tea for Laura and Remington, and a glass of water for Mirabella.

"Do you have much experience with children?" Laura asked, undeterred by Bernice's entrance.

"Yes, ma'am," Mirabella answered, her eyes leaving Bernice to look at Laura. "I began babysitting when I was twelve, and after my mother passed I assisted my older brother and sisters with raising our younger siblings."

"How old were they, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Geovanni was thirteen, Julissa eleven and the baby, Carmelina, eight," Mirabella replied. Remington leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.

"Our children are considerably younger," he noted. "Have you any experience, at all, with younger children?"

"Yes, sir. It is the custom in our family for the older children to assist with the younger, so from a very young age, I helped my Mama with my brothers and sisters. And later, when I began babysitting, most of the children I cared for were under the age of five."

"Monroe tells us you are majoring in accounting at Cal State Northridge," Laura commented. "What drew you to that particular major?"

"I've always enjoyed math. Numbers are not subjective but absolutes. Five times five will always be twenty-five, the square root of one-hundred-twenty-one will always be eleven. There is an honesty in numbers, whether or not we care for the answer they provide us. An honesty which is mostly lacking in the world around us." Laura's appreciation of the young woman before them ticked up a notch.

"And children? Why is it you are considering the position we are offering?" Remington pressed.

"I enjoy children. There is an inherent honesty in them as well. They are curious, observant, make you see the world as though for the first time, through eyes not so jaded. They are open to new experiences." She smiled softly. "Children are the best part of us all, and should we love them, provide them a safe environment in which to explore their innate curiosity, and instill in them, from early on, a respect for all living beings, then we have accomplished something truly meaningful." He nodded, her words resonating with the man who was once a child who'd long for all of what she'd said, but had known too seldom.

"This is not a typical nanny situation," Laura introduced. "Mr. Steele and I are fully involved in our children's lives and that won't be changing. Until June, the girls will need to be picked up when preschool gest out at three o'clock and we are normally home by six-thirty, although on Tuesday and Thursdays I'll be home by five to pick up the girls for dance class. You'll be on call in the evenings after Mr. Steele and I get home, whether it is for he and I to go out together, or because of a business function we have to attend. We will, of course, give you more than adequate notice if we plan on being out. The baby will be at the office with Mr. Steele and me each day, so the only time you'd have him in your care is in the evenings. The weekends are family time. We would need you to be on call, in case an emergency arises, but you wouldn't need to stay at the house as long so you were within a reasonable time away." She mulled the details provided then remembered a rather significant detail. "Each year, our family travels abroad to see Mr. Steele's family, so you can count on having the majority of June as vacation time for yourself. We also visit our home in Vail a few times a year for a long weekend and we'd need your assistance on some of those trips when friends and family are not with us. Of course, when we aren't on the slopes and the girls aren't taking their lessons, we'll provided you everything you need to do some skiing yourself, if you're so inclined. Knowing all of this, how do you feel it would work with your own schedule if we offered you the position."

It had been a lot of information to take in. Mirabella's brow furrowed softly in thought, as she reviewed her own schedule compared to that of the Steele's. Finally, she stirred.

"The girls? Do they also go to preschool in the summer months?" Mirabella queried, drawing a smile from Laura. Apparently, she hadn't recalled _all_ the details after all.

"No, they don't," she acknowledged. "However, I've been looking into a dance and arts camp for the summer, where they'll be enrolled, so their schedules, and the demands on your own, would remain unchanged."

"Then my only concern would be my class schedule this semester," Mirabella shared, fearing the issues would disqualify her on the spot. "I have classes Tuesday through Thursday nights from six to ten at Cal State Northridge. I'm afraid if I withdraw, I'd lose both the credits and my tuition."

"We expected there to be a settling in period," Laura dismissed. "Monroe had told us you were taking night classes, so we anticipated a period of transition. Tuesday and Thursdays I am home by five at the latest, which would give you plenty of time to commute to school. As for Wednesdays? Mr. Steele's sister has been helping with the children the last few months and has volunteered to continue doing so while you settle in." Mirabella's eyes widened at that. Could two people actually be so giving, as it appeared the Steele's were.

"Do you enjoy the out-of-doors?" Remington questioned. "Our girls are most insistent on playing outside when they come home from school of an afternoon."

"My Mama believed in fresh air and sunshine, playing and exercising. She did not allow us to sit inside on nice days," Mirabella explained. "Our days were spent with our imaginations, whether we played baby in the air with the neighborhood children, created lemonade stands, or explored."

"What questions do you have, Mirabella?" Laura wondered.

"Can you tell me about the children?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course," Laura smiled in answer. "Our oldest, Sophia, will be four-years-old next Tuesday. She loves the Disney princesses, specifically Sleeping Beauty, and dancing. She has recently undergone a… difficult time… and can be shy, almost to the point of being withdrawn. She and Olivia are thicker than thieves, so while she may be on the quiet side with you, initially, just be patient and she'll open up. She is a sweet, kind little girl, who just needs to know she is safe."

"Olivia is three-years-old," Remington stepped in. "She is bright, articulate, compassionate, and curious. She too enjoys the princesses, though she is partial to Snow White. She partakes in ballet classes but has yet to show the passion Sophie has for the dance. She asks questions ceaselessly and loves to help however she can around the house. She is particularly protective of Sophie, and if something is amiss will do what she can to make it better for her sister. She is full of boundless energy from the time she wakes until she next sleeps."

"Holt, our son, turned a month old two days ago," Laura continued. He is a happy, easy going baby, who rarely fusses. His sisters like to be engaged in his care whether it's bringing one of us his pacifier or getting the diaper when he needs to be changed."

Mirabella smiled throughout their descriptions. Their love for, their devotion to their children was evident in both words and how they spoke.

"Any other questions?" Laura inquired. Mirabella shook her head in the negative, while Laura glanced at Remington. With an indiscernible nod of his head, he acknowledged his agreement. "Bernice had you fill out the paperwork for the background and driver's license checks?"

"Yes, ma'am, she did."

"Then, anticipating those will both come back clean, how would you feel about stopping by the new house this afternoon at three-thirty?" Laura requested, as she scribbled out the address on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "We'd like to see how you interact with the kids, particularly the girls, and see how they respond to you, as well. I don't imagine it will take more than an hour, as Mr. Steele and I will be in a bit of a hurry ourselves, between dance class this afternoon and moving to the new house in the morning." Mirabella stood and offered each of the Steele's a hand.

"I will be there," she promised.

Remington waited a couple minutes to make certain Mirabella would have left the Agency, then picked up the phone and dialed Mildred's extension.

"Be right there, Boss," their senior investigator answered, and before another word was said, disconnected the line. Within seconds, the door to Remington's office swung open, and she closed it behind herself, before taking the seat Mirabella had just vacated.

"How's the baby?" Laura asked.

"Aw, you know Marvin and kids," Mildred dismissed, with a flick of her hand, "The baby is cooing and smiling away at him." Remington and Laura relaxed back into the sofa at the news.

"What have you found, Mildred?" Laura asked. There had never been a debate Mirabella's background check and driving record search would be placed in Mildred's trusted hands. The woman wouldn't be satisfied unless she knew every stone had been left unturned when it came to her babies.

" _Bupkis_. The girl's never had a driving infraction, and has never come to the attention of the LAPD. The only mention I found of her was as a surviving child given notification by the LAPD of her mother's death after the car accident." She thumbed through some paperwork. "I had BB and Marvin check out her references, one glowing report after another." A few more pages turned. "DMV records show she drives an eighty-seven, four-door Pontiac Bonneville. There's nothing fancy about the car. Just a good 'ole dependable car rated as one of the top ten cars in eighty-seven for reliability and safety." Laura breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I'm guessing you kids liked her?"

"We did," Remington confirmed. "We've arranged for her to meet us at Casa Malaga this afternoon, to see what the children think of her."

"And, if they respond to her as we hope they will, to see her living accommodations," Laura added. "We still have a way to go, but I'm hopeful."

* * *

Mirabella arrived at Casa Malaga at two-fifty-five. She was a young woman who believed in punctuality, felt it spoke to her dependability, reliability… to her character. As she stepped out of the car, her lips parted in a soft 'o'. A girl who hailed from modest means, she'd imagined, when given the address by Laura, that they house would be beach adjacent, not beach front. She'd pictured a well-maintained home, larger than that of her childhood, but certainly not this. This was… paradise.

Her heart beat faster at the wonder that she might be so blessed to live here, to work for this family Mr. Monroe had spoken highly of for years.

At the front door, she took a deep breath, composing herself, before she depressed the doorbell. The door was opened by a beautiful, olive skinned woman.

"You must be Mirabella," Melina greeted, as she held out her hand. "I'm Xen-, Mr. Steele's sister, Melina. He and Laura are waiting down on the beach with the girls for you. If you'll come with me." Mirabella followed behind Melina as requested.

"Do you live here as well?" Mirabella wondered.

"Where we live now, I do." Melina waved an arm around the nearly empty house, "Here, I will live in one of the guest houses." Mirabella shook her head, as they walked through the nearly empty living room.

"This house… I've never… It's beautiful," she breathed, as they stepped outside onto the deck.

"My brother and sister work hard for all they have…" She frowned as she thought of Remington's childhood, Laura's kidnapping, events of the last months. "Have had to overcome much to get here. No one deserves it more than they." Mirabella was curious what Lina meant, but had better manners than to ask. Instead, she observed her surroundings, taking them all in, following half a step behind Melina.

On the sand beneath the private stairway which led from their deck to the beach, Remington sat on the sand, holding Holt, watching as Laura and the girls ran back and forth, running away from surf as it came in, then chased it as it rolled back out.

"A sight so beautiful as that," he murmured to his son, as he nodded towards the women in his life, "You can only hope to see in your lifetime, my boy." Unbidden, the thought of how close he'd come to losing it all only a few weeks before came to mind. Yet, here they were, the entire dream so close at hand: Laura, their children, a home on the beach. In his eyes, life could get no better.

"Ahhh, Mirabella, right on time," he greeted, while getting to his feet and brushing the sand off his jeans. "I hope Lina hasn't talked your ear off." Melina scrunched her nose at him in reply, and he waved a hand, catching Laura's eyes.

"No, sir," Mirabella assured. "Your home is beautiful."

"We like to think so," he grinned, as Laura approached them, herding the girls with her, "But thank you, nonetheless."

"Girls, this is Mirabella," she introduced, as Livvie tilted her head to look with curiosity at the young woman, while Sophie partially hid herself behind Laura, wrapping an arm around her leg. Automatically, Laura's hand reached to stroke the back of Sophie's head, offering her gentle reassurance. "Mirabella," she held out a hand in Livvie's direction, "I'd like you to meet Olivia…"

"I'm three," Olivia announced, while still trying to figure out what to make of the stranger.

"Hello, Olivia," Mirabella smiled at her.

"And Sophia," Laura concluded. Mirabella kneeled down to the little blonde's eyes level.

"Hi, Sophia," she greeted quietly. Sophia blinked, and stuck her thumb in her mouth, clinging tighter to Laura's leg.

"And, this," Laura tucked back the blanket away from the baby's face when Remington stepped near, "Is Holt."

"He's beautiful," Mirabella complimented, entranced by the bright blue eyes that looked up at her so attentively. "May I?" Remington's eyes flicked to Laura, who answered with a subtle nod of her head. Carefully, reluctantly, he transferred his son into the waiting arms of this still stranger. He shoved his hands in his pockets, to keep at bay the impulse to snatch him back.

"That's _our_ baby," Olivia declared, plopping her hands on her hips and lifting defiant blue eyes up at the lady.

"Yes, he is. He's lucky to have a big sister who is so protective of him," Mirabella agreed easily, sitting in the sand so Livvie could easily observe all was well with the baby.

"What's prodectif?" Livvie asked, her curiosity supplanting her pique.

"Pro-tect-ive," Mirabella repeated, enunciating each syllable. "It means you watch over your baby brother, make sure he's safe. I was the same way with my baby sisters and brother. I still am." Livvie plopped down on the sand next to woman and baby.

"You've gotted babies, too?" Mirabella smiled down at her.

"'You have babies,'" she corrected, much to Laura's approval, "But now they're almost all grown up."

"Come on, Soph," Laura encouraged, "What's say you and I go chase the waves together again, huh?" Dropping her thumb from her mouth, Sophie nodded, eagerly reaching for the hand held out to her.

"Is they big now like Sophie and me?" Livvie continued to speak to Mirabella.

"'Are they as big as Sophie and I.' No, they are all grown up now, except for Carmelina who is seventeen."

"My cousin Mindy's seventeen and she's big!"

"Livvie seems to like her," Lina noted, as she stepped next to her brother's side.

"Mmmmmm, as does the babe." His eyes flitted towards Laura and Sophie where they played at the water's edge. "But it will mean little should Sophie not warm to the woman. Neither Laura nor I will place Sophie in a position where she feels less than secure."

"Cmon, Mabella," Livvie jumped to her feet. "Come play with us!" Dutifully, Mirabella stood and passed Holt back to Remington, who tucked the babe close to his chest.

"Sophie has been through much, Xen. You cannot expect her to warm to someone as Livvie does," Lina reasoned. "She will follow Livvie's lead but at her own pace. Give her time."

"Lina, would you mind…" he indicated the group playing at the water's edge with a wave of his hand, "…so Laura and I might have a word?"

"Of course," she easily agreed. When Lina took Laura's place entertaining Sophie, Laura traversed the beach to where he stood.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, as she watched Lina and Mirabella with the girls.

"She does well enough with the babe and Livvie," he conceded.

"But you're worried Sophie won't warm to her," she intuited.

"Aye, and must wonder if we are doing her a disservice plunging her in as we are." She watched the scene as it played out before them, Sophie frolicking happily with Lina and Livvie while keeping a safe distance from Mirabella, assessing her with watchful eyes. The answer came to her, in that alone.

"So, we don't plunge her in," she suggested. "We'll give Mirabella a thirty day trial period, during which time someone Sophie trusts is with them at all times. I'm sure between Lina, Catherine, you and myself we can make that happen."

"And if at the end of those thirty days, Sophie is still apprehensive?" he postulated.

"Then we let her go and begin again." He mulled her proposal, then finally with a swipe of his hand to mouth, nodded slowly.

"I suppose I could live with that," he agreed.

"Then can you and Lina get the girls dressed for dance while I show Mirabella where she'll be staying and the specifics of pay and perks?"

"That we can do." He bent his head down for a kiss, and found her cheek, before she was off to gather everyone together.

* * *

Laura unlocked the door to their second guest house and swung it open, indicating Mirabella should precede her inside.

"Since it is essential to us to have someone on call in case of emergencies after hours and overnight, part of the job's benefits includes living accommodations," Laura introduced, looking around the one bedroom home. "All utilities are paid for, of course, including cable television. She stood back as Mirabella toured the small house, peeking into the kitchen, bathroom, then bedroom.

"It's… amazing," Mirabella finally spoke.

Laura smiled at the compliment. She'd placed a great deal of thought into infusing warmth into a very beachy feel, weaving creams, pale blue, and soft greens throughout the décor. An overstuffed, leather, cream colored sofa, was abutted by two, white washed, glass topped side tables, a matching coffee table standing in front of it. A matching chair sat catty corner to the couch, and directly across from it, a white washed armoire that served as an entertainment center, with doors that could be closed to conceal the thirty-two inch television, VCR and stereo system. A glass topped, white washed table with matching chairs was positioned in the dining room. The kitchen fully stocked with everything from pots and pans to cutlery.

The bedroom featured a queen bed, with fluffy cream comforter, topped with throw pillows in soft blues and greens. Here, dressers, mirror and night stands were the same white washed wood. She'd left the walls bare, thinking whoever occupied the space could add pictures, trinkets that matched their own tastes.

"Thank you," she answered, sincerely. "There's a washer and dryer in the utility room, as well. You're welcome to join us for dinner each evening, if you'd like, as Lina does. You'll have full use of the pool and the beach as well. You're welcome to have… guests… although we'd appreciation discretion as we do have three children in the house. The position pays three-fifty a week, and given we require reliable transportation for our children, we can either provide a vehicle or help with payments, maintenance and insurance costs for your own car. Your choice." Mirabella turned and looked at Laura, eyes wide with surprise and hope.

"Are you offering me the job?"

"Yes, conditionally," Laura answered. "We'd like to do a thirty-day trial period. Either Mr. Steele, myself, Melina, the children's grandmother, or a trusted family member or friend will be with you, at first all the time, then gradually with less and less assistance." She held up her hand. "Don't be worried, this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with Sophie. She needs time to adjust and we don't wish to thrust her into a situation that might cause her to regress. I think she'll be fine in the end, but I'm sure you'll understand, she has to come first and foremost."

"Of course, I do," Mirabella answered. Laura gave her head a swift nod.

"With that condition in mind, if you'd like the job, it's yours."

"I would love it," the young woman answered, without hesitation.

"Then, we'll be moving in tomorrow between eight and two. Any time after two, you can begin moving in as well. " Laura's brows furrowed for a second, as she thought out the details. "If you'll go by the office and see Bernice in the morning, she'll have all the paperwork you'll need to complete. I'd like you here at two-thirty, so you can accompany Melina to the Good Shephard where the girls attend school. You'll not only be able to familiarize yourself with the route, but Melina can help show you some of the afternoon pick-up routines."

"I'll be here," she promised.

"Alright," Laura drew out, with a nod of her head. "Then you'll be needing this." She pressed the key to the guest house into Mirabella's hand. "The house and guest houses, are all alarmed." She slipped a piece of paper out of her jacket pocket and handed it to the young woman. "The code for this guest house as well as the code for the gate on the drive are both here. Mr. Steele and I will be home all weekend, unpacking, helping the children get used to their new environment, so you'll have plenty of time to get the feel of the place. You'll officially start on Monday." Opening the door, she prepared to leave then, after second thought, turned back around. "We're celebrating Sophia's birthday Sunday. It will be a very small affair, held on our back deck. You're welcome to join us."

"Thank you." Laura nodded her head.

"I hope this works out, for all of us." With those last words, she left and closed the door behind herself.

"I hope so, too," Mirabella whispered to the empty room.


	19. Chapter 19: Permanency

Chapter 19: Permanency

Miraculously, moving day had gone smoothly, thanks, in large part, to all of Laura's preparations before hand. By the time the girls were due to arrive from school, all furniture was in place, the kitchen had been put in order, all the bedrooms were complete, as was the playroom. All that remained was some accessorizing in the living room, unpacking office, movie room and studio, and for the Auburn to be moved from their Holmby Hills garage, to the garage at Casa Malaga as Melina had driven the M3, laden down with her own belongings, to the new house that morning.

Holt slept soundly in his basinet in the family room, as Remington and Laura stood in the middle of the room, allowing themselves to enjoy a moment self-satisfaction at their accomplishment. Stretching an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her into his side in a hug, and lay his cheek against the side of her head.

"It's the dream," he murmured. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"It is certainly a beautiful house. I think the children will be happy here," she commented. The pitter patter of a pair of pint size feet ended their conversation.

"Straight ahead, children," Lina called from behind them.

"Da!" Livvie called when he came into the sight, and she rocketed towards him, throwing herself in his arms. He swooped her upwards then held her in his arms facing him. "Thea Lina saided we's going home. Why is we here?" Laura let go of the myriad of corrections needed, as she scooped Sophie up into her own arms.

"Ah, a stór, we spoke of this last evening," he reminded her. "Don't you remember?" He tapped her on the tip of her nose. She looked at him with all the seriousness a three year could muster and shook her head slowly.

"No," she drew out the word.

"This is now our home, where we'll live from here on," he explained again. She frowned at him.

"But I like _our house_ ," she told him, sticking her bottom lip out.

"Well, what's say we take a look around _this_ house, and see what you think, hmmmm?" he suggested. "I suspect there is a surprise or two that just may win you over." Livvie gave her father a resigned sigh.

"Okay," she agreed, drawing out the word to make her dissatisfaction clear.

"What about you, Sophie Bird? Do you want to take a look around?" Sophie nodded her head eagerly. With a hug, Laura set her on her feet. "Then why don't we start here?" she asked, leading the girls towards their new playroom.

"For me and Sophie?!" Livvie asked, excitedly, squirming wildly to be put down by her father.

"It _is_ ," Laura smiled down at their little daughter, "And for Holt, as well, when he gets older.

"Look, Sophie! Them's princess clothes!" Livvie said excitedly, as she gripped bunches of clothing in her hands.

"And a tea set," Sophie breathed, touching the little china set reverently.

"And a thing like Da has!" Livvie danced happily, pointing at the easel.

"Livvie, there's a place for our babies!" Sophie announced with glee. Livvie's face fell, crestfallen, as she remembered.

"Our babies ared at home," the reminded her sister dolefully.

"Livvie Bee, Sophie Bird, why don't you come see what we've here," Remington suggested, swinging open the French doors that led outside, in an attempt to avert a crisis. Cautiously, Livvie peeked her head around the corner, her heartbreak immediately forgotten as she raced outside.

"A swing set!"

"A play house, Livvie!" Sophie countered, as she ran across the yard to examine the child size cottage. "It has a kitchen!" Her smile lit up the world around her as she looked to Laura. "For me and Livvie?"

"It is, sweetie," Laura promised, stepping to the cottage and pointing through the window, directed, "There's a small couch and table for you girls as well." Sophie wrapped her arms around Laura's legs in a hard hug, as her mother stroked her hair tenderly.

"We may have a surprise or two more up our sleeves for you. Would you care to see?"

"I do! I do!" Livvie answered, jumping up and down.

"Yes," Sophie agreed, much more soberly.

The foursome toured the billiards room, viewing room, office, living and dining room to familiarize the girls with their new surroundings. Soon they grew, restless, bored, emphasized by when Livvie asked…

"Can we go home now? I's hungry."

"'I'm hungry', sweetie," Laura corrected gently.

"Perhaps a trip upstairs, hmmm?" Remington suggested, his eyes catching, holding Laura's, "And afterwards, we can begin preparing dinner."

"Alright," Livvie drew out the word, her lack of enthusiasm evident, while Sophie nodded complacently.

Upstairs the couple parted ways, Remington standing before a door with Livvie, Laura before another with Sophie. On a lift of his brows they each swung open the door.

"It's my room!" Olivia shouted, barreling into it, and scrambling up onto her bed to bounce.

"Indeed, it is," Remington agreed, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, as she dropped down off the bed to explore her room.

"I gots a desk!" she announced.

"'I have a desk,'" he corrected, on one of those rare occasions. "Mommy picked it out especially for you."

"My babies are here!" She grabbed one, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Of course, they are. This is your new home and theirs as well."

It took a moment for Sophie and Laura to make it through the doorway into her room.

"This is your room, sweetie," Laura finally prodded.

"For me?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, for you," Laura confirmed again.

"It's pretty. And pupple." She walked into the room, cautiously fingering a comforter as she looked around.

"'Purple,'" Laura corrected. "And yes, it is. Purple _is_ your favorite color, after all." She watched as Sophie walked further into the room, then stopped between the two beds, staring at the sketches there.

"They're me!" Laura crossed the room the stand behind her, playing with her braids.

"They are. Your Da drew them for you." Sophie stepped away from her to clutch a picture from off the bedside table to her chest.

"And Mommy."

"To help watch over you and keep you safe," Laura noted.

"You won't no more?" Laura's face scrunched, unseen, as she wished she'd chosen her words more carefully. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she picked the little girl up and cuddled her on her lap.

"You remember yesterday when the Judge said you're Sophie Steele now?" Worried green eyes stared up at her.

"Yes," she whispered, her uncertainty obvious in her voice.

"That means your Da and I will always take care of you, keep you safe…" she touched a pair of fingers under Sophie's chin and lifted it until her little girl's eyes met her own, "..And we'll love you, very, very much." Sophie melted against her, and they sat in quiet for long moments.

"Da, where's Sophie?" Livvie asked, looking at the room, realizing what was amiss.

"She's in her room, a stór, with Mommy," he answered. Livvie frowned at the answer.

"But this is her room," she insisted, drawing a chuckle from Remington.

"In our old house, you would be correct. But in our _new_ house, Sophie and you each have your own room." Livvie's eyes welled with tears, much to his confusion.

"I wanna go home, Da!" she wailed, lip quivering. "I don't like it here!" He leaned down, and plucking her up, held her in his arms.

"Now what's all this about, hmmmm?" he wondered, a hand soothing her back as her arms gripped his neck in a stranglehold. "You seemed to be liking the new house enough, not a minute ago.

"Sophie is ascared by herself." Understanding dawned.

"Ah, I see. Well, then, it's a good thing this is a special house, eh?" He stepped to the door that adjoined the two rooms and swung it open, revealing Sophie's room. "Have a look for yourself, hmmmm?" He and Laura exchanged questioning looks from where she still sat on the edge of the bed with Sophie.

"Overwhelmed," she provided.

"Worried about Sophie," he answered in turn, as he sat beside her, Livvie reaching out a hand to Sophie.

"It be okay, Sophie. You can still sleep with me," Livvie vowed. Never moving from Laura's arm, Sophie turned her head to look at her sister.

"I can?"

"Most certainly, a thaisce," Remington assured her. "It's why we've made it a point there be two beds in each room, to allow you the choice of which room you prefer to sleep in on any given night."

Crisis adverted, for now, dinner was held on the deck outside that evening. Mirabella had returned to her home to pack the remainder of her belongings, leaving the Steele's and Lina to a quiet, family dinner. Some time on the swing set went a long way to tiring the girls, and by the time nighttime routines rolled around, it seemed all was calm in the Steele household. Baths were taken in Sophia's glistening clean bathroom, and when the girls made a mad dash through the adjoining door into Olivia's room, it appeared the decision had been made on sleeping arrangements, Livvie sprawling out in her bed, while Sophie curled up in 'hers'. Prayers said, story read, songs sung, Laura and Remington kissed each of the girls in turn, then turned off the light, leaving the door open a crack to allow a sliver of light in. Forty-five minutes later, with the aid of teamwork, Holt was bathed, fed, burped, rocked and now lay sleeping in his nursery above.

The couple collapsed on the couch together downstairs, the baby monitor placed on the coffee table lest the smallest Steele need attention. Lina had taken refuge in her guest house, determined to have it fully in order by the time morning arrived, as she and Jocelyn were meeting then to visit the several office spaces Remington had located as the potential administrative home of the foundation, an endeavor which Laura was to have been part of, but with the move and Sophie's upcoming birthday party, she would simply have final approval on whatever the pair of women selected.

Remington turned his head, where it leaned against the back of the couch, to look at her.

"All-in-all, I'd have to say that went as well as we could hope, eh?" She turned her head, likewise.

"With a minimum of emotional scarring for them to report to their psychologist one day, at least," she smiled and he laughed softly.

"At least the babe, at his tender age, won't have memories of us ripping them away from home, routine, all they've ever known," he joked. Her eyes narrowed.

"You don't really believe our moving has been that disturbing to them do you?" She found the notion baffling.

"For the babe, no. It's yet another change for Sophie to adjust to in such a short time, and Livvie made her opinion on where she wished to be abundantly clear," he raise a brow at her, "And it wasn't here."

"She'll be fine," she assured, turning her head to gaze at the ceiling. "It's not as though we moved in her in the middle of high school, ripping her away from all her friends, her activities. She'll still go to Good Shephard, will have her friends there, will attend the same dance class. One day she won't even remember Holmby Hills."

"Do you recall the home you lived in at three?" he wondered.

"It would be difficult not to as I lived there until I left for college," she answered drily.

"I can't even imagine such a thing," he mulled aloud. "Even after I found a place with Daniel, we never stayed much of anywhere for longer than a few months."

"Which is a large part of the reason I agreed to this house: a sense of belonging, permanency, as much for you as the children. I didn't want to risk us outgrowing another home." As he leaned in for a kiss, she sat up, then stood. "And speaking of moving… I'm going to get to work on unpacking the office, or we'll never be ready in time for Sophie's party." He nodded thoughtfully.

"Then I suppose I should do likewise in the viewing room, hmmm?" he noted, rising to his feet.

They wouldn't meet again until he wearily climbed into bed behind her and wrapped himself around her sleeping form.


	20. Chapter 20: Restructuring

Chapter 20: Restructuring

The weekend had been… chaotic… but fruitful. Casa Malaga was now in perfect order, and much as Laura had predicted, the girls had quickly settled into their new lives there. Sophie's small birthday party had been a smashing success, and even now, she and Livvie lay asleep in Sophie's room with her new kitten, Prince Charming, laying contentedly asleep on her pillow next to her head. The day had been bittersweet however, as the following morning Thomas and Catherine would depart for England, with the demands of foaling season calling them home.

To say Remington was surprised to find Laura awake, and sitting up in the bed waiting for him, nonetheless, was surprising. For weeks now, it was more common than not to find her curled up asleep when he'd come to bed. In his mind, recently having given birth, then the crisis afterwards, her recent lethargy had seemed completely within the bounds of normalcy. This? Well, it didn't exactly fall within the ordinary.

When he lay down in bed and opened a welcoming arm to her, he had another surprise coming, delivered in the form of a shake of her head, as she remained adamantly sitting in the same place.

"I've decided I'm going back to work tomorrow," she announced, making no attempt to soften the blow. Pushing up on his arm, he leaned against the headboard much like her.

"it's much too soon, Lau-ra," he protested, much as she'd expected him to. "For God's sake, only three weeks ago, there was a question if you'd live, let alone work again! Then there's the matter that Adams hasn't even cleared you to do so."

"You know what Dr. Adams said," she reminded him as she slipped out of the bed and walked towards the bathroom. She returned, handed him her brush then scooted up to sit between his legs. She'd discovered some time ago that he not only enjoyed brushing her hair, but found it soothing in some indistinguishable manner.

"I happen to recall _every word_ Adams said," he answered quickly. _As though I could ever forget those hours after finding you bleeding, unconscious,_ he mulled silently, _the interminable wait while not knowing anything, the news afterwards, the look on your face…_

"Remington," she called his name, pulling him from his thoughts, "Adams _said_ my recovery time would be two to three weeks. We've reached that point."

"But you're still so… so…" he grasped at straws, as his hand continued to automatically draw the brush through her hair, "…tired all the time. Napping, sleeping, far more than you normally do. Too… too… exhausted to run even."

" _Of course,_ I'm tired. But it has nothing to do with giving birth, or the aftermath," she reasoned. "Three children needing our attention," she began to tick off, "Moving here, working on selling the Holmby Hills House, interviewing attorneys and nannies, meeting with attorneys to set up the foundation, all while conducting our everyday lives. _Of course,_ I'm tired. Can you honestly say that you're not?"

"Well, no, but—"

"It's time for me to get back to my work, the Agency… _my life_ ," she argued. Dropping the brush on the bed, he drew his hands through his hair, then moved out from behind her to pace the room. He'd hoped to postpone this talk for weeks still, had believed he'd had time. She'd given not a single indication she was considering returning to the Agency already. He'd needed more time to formulate wiggle-proof arguments that even she couldn't get around. But, as always, providence seemed to have idea which ran contrary to his own.

"We need to speak—"

"Isn't that what we're doing?" she asked, lifting her hands then dropping them.

"About the Agency," he finished. Her eyes narrowed on him.

"What _about_ the Agency?" Her voice was cool, the nervous way he paced and fidgeted a blaring announcement whatever he wished to speak of would not be well received.

"I think it's time we consider some changes," he began.

"What _kind_ of changes?" she demanded to now, her chin tipping back a notch while he rubbed at his neck.

"Downsizing." The single word answer had her leaving the bed and standing in beside it, plunking her fists on her hips.

"Exactly what type of 'downsizing,'" she said the word with disdain, "Did you have in mind?" That earned another draw of his hand through his hair, coupled with more pacing.

"Expansion of the security arm of the Agency, to begin with." He took a deep breath. "The white crime arm is fine, as it stands." Her hand reached for her brow.

"And the investigative side?" she inquired, voice tight. It took everything he had to say the words.

"Dismantled." Once said, it seemed he could not stop speaking. "Graham, Warmack, Celek, and Burton would be in high demand with other Agencies. They'd have no difficulty in finding new employ. We could offer them a very generous severance package, one that would keep them afloat for months to—"

"And what's next? Me playing the housewife, your slippers at the ready when you come home?" she hypothesized, pacing now herself. "Cooking classes so I can have your dinner waiting on the table of an evening when you get home?" It was everything she ever feared would happen should she marry, have a family. And here it was.

"Don't be ridiculous!" he barked. "You continue to run the Agency as you always have. You oversee white collar, you partner me in security—"

"And give up what matters _the most to me!_ " she shouted. "I founded this Agency on _investigations_ , or have you forgotten that?" She threw her arms up in the air out of frustration. "The Remington Steele Agency has the reputation it does _because of_ our investigations. Have you forgotten what it is that brought _us_ together, how hard we've worked to make this Agency the success it is?!"

"Have you forgotten what it's nearly cost us, again and again!?" he bellowed. "Our daughter could have been killed a few week's past because of Castoro. How many more deranged individuals must we cross before the cost—"

"But Castoro wasn't an off-shoot of one of our investigations, was he?" she accused. "He was a byproduct of your secret, ongoing relationship with Clarissa! Had it not been for _that_ the thought to send Sophie to us would never occurred to her." She pointed a single finger ceilingward to emphasize her point, while his knee nearly buckled at the weight of the accusation. "Yes! We are on the list of any number of people we've helped put away previously, people who'd like to exact what they consider a pound of flesh, but…" her voice rose, "… closing the investigative side will not change that!"

"Can you deny it will prevent adding more to that list?" he challenged. "We've _three children_ to consider, Lau-ra, not only to keep safe, but who need their parents!"

"And we don't cross people in white crimes, when Mildred and the team uncover embezzlement, tremendous amount of assets they thought they'd concealed?" she countered. "You're not thinking clearly, Mr. Steele!"

"I beg to differ. I believe I'm the only one in this room who's considering the bigger picture! It's no longer your tail and mine on the line any longer, Miss Holt – it's our entire family's." She waved a dismissive hand at him.

"You've lost your mind," she concluded with no little exasperation. Their heads turned as Holt began wailing in the adjoining room. "You get the baby, I'm going to bed," she directed, already sliding beneath the sheets.

"Laura—"

"We're done discussing this." With those final words, she rolled over and faced away from him.

He glared at her before walking towards the nursery.

 _The bloody hell we are,_ he silently vowed.


	21. Chapter 21: Grounded

Chapter 21: Grounded

Laura sat in the chilly examination room, swinging a leg, crossed over a knee, nervously. Packing up Holt and leaving the house before Remington and the girls had even awakened had been an act of foolishness on her part. She scrunched her face, squeezed shut her eyes. Cowardice, even. She simply hadn't been up to another discussion about the Agency and suspected by the way he'd stiffly left the room the evening before, he was intent upon pursuing the matter. As it was, they'd have to face the matter head on when she walked through the Agency doors after her appointment with Dr. Adams.

The thought drew a long sigh, one overheard by Dr. Adams when he swung open the door and stepped into the room.

"Should I be insulted?" he joked. She smiled at the older doctor, having always liked the man.

"Of course not," she answered. "I was just thinking…"

"Laura Holt, thinking? How shocking!" His comment drew a laugh, as he looked down at the baby, nestled in his carrier.

"The baby looks like he's doing well," he noted, as he pressed his stethoscope to her chest. "How's his mother doing?" Her eyes flitted away from him, and she unconsciously sighed again.

"Fine. Busy."

"I imagine so, with a three-year-old and newborn." The nurse entered the room and he looked over the notes she'd scrawled on Laura's chart.

"And a four-year-old," she corrected. He gave her a surprised look. "We adopted Sophie last Thursday."

"Well, congratulations. Three kids. That's a big change. Could account for why your blood pressure's on the high side for you. Lay back please," he directed. As she complied, the nurse pushed the ultrasound cart close to the exam table, while Adams discretely adjusted the paper sheet and raised Laura's gown. "Running again?" he asked, in polite conversation, his fingers palpating her abdomen.

"I've been too busy." He hummed at her answer.

"No triathlons planned?" She flinched as the nurse squeezed a generous portion of cold gel on her stomach.

"I haven't really thought about it," she shrugged, her eyes on the grainy screen of the ultrasound.

"The gym?" he pressed.

"Haven't found the time," she answered nonchalantly, growing irritated with questions when what _she_ wanted to know was what had captured his interest on that screen. "Between moving to the new house, laying the groundwork for the foundation we're creating, I've been busy."

"A new house. Exciting times. How do you like it?" She absently shrugged a shoulder.

"It'll serve our needs. As long as we don't have to move again, that's fine by me." His hand paused at the answer, then he continued to move the wand, flicking a quick glance at her face before his eyes returned to the screen

"How are you sleeping?"

"Fine," she drew out the word in a huff.

"That can be difficult with a newborn." He handed the wand to the nurse. "You can turn it off," he instructed.

"Is everything alright?" she inquired, pressing up on her elbows to look at him. Adams moved to sit at the stool at the end of the exam table and waited until she secured her feet in the stirrups.

"Let's finish the exam, and we'll see," he suggested, much to her annoyance. "How much sleep are you getting each day?"

"I don't know," she answered, irritably. "I'm in bed by nine-thirty, maybe a little earlier. Get up at seven, seven-thirty. Most days, I manage to take a nap."

"How long of a nap?" She held up a hand then dropped it.

"I don't know. Long enough. An hour, maybe two."

"How many times in an evening are you up with the baby, for how long?" She grimaced as he slid the speculum inside her.

"I'm not. Remington takes night duty, always has."

"Lucky woman," he answered with a smile. "Most of the women in my practice complain of just the opposite. How's your diet? Eating well?" She wrinkled her nose.

"Who has time to eat?" she replied. "But, truthfully, nothing much appeals to me right now." The questions stalled as he finished the internal examination.

"Go ahead and sit up, Laura," he told her as he stood himself, pulling off the latex gloves and stepping to the trash can to throw them away. He leaned his backside against a counter, scribbling notes in her chart. "How long ago did you stop bleeding?" Her brows furrowed as she considered the question.

"Nine, maybe ten days."

"Any break through?" She shook her head as she raised and dropped her shoulders in part answer.

"No, not at all." He nodded and scrawled some more.

"How are you feeling, overall?"

"Fine. I'm fine," she insisted.

"How about emotionally? The birth of a child, the complications afterwards, it would be a lot for anyone to deal with."

"I'm fine," she snapped this time. "Can you please just clear me for work, so I can get on with the day?" Setting the chart down on the counter, he crossed his arms and considered her thoughtfully.

"Laura, my examination, the ultrasound, confirm what we spoke about in the hospital. The scarring is… extensive. Have you and your husband come to terms with the diagnosis, what it means in terms of future plans?" Her chin tipped up a notch, and she did some arm crossing of her own.

"Completely." He studied her at length, then gave his head a single nod.

"I want to see you back in three weeks. During that time, I'd like for you to try to resume some of your old routines: running, the gym. To find some downtime for just yourself," Adams informed her. "Until then, you're cleared to resume intercourse, just be aware there's a chance of some discomfort. If there is, it should subside with time. When you return, we'll take a second look at returning to work." Her head snapped up at that, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

"I must have misunderstood. Did you just actually say you're not clearing me to return to work?" she demanded to know, her tone like ice.

"Laura, I've been treating you since you were a teenager," he reminded her. "Your blood pressure is high for you, your pulse abnormally elevated. I've never known you to sleep more than five, six hours in a day, but you've just reported to sleeping as many as twelve. In a little over a month, you're back to your pre-pregnancy weight. Your bloodwork showed you're anemic, an indication you aren't getting adequate nutrition. You show a lack of interest in pursuits you are normally wholeheartedly committed to: running, triathlons. You seem unenthused by something as monumental as moving to a new home. Frankly, I'm concerned you may be suffering from mild depression."

"De… de… depression?" she stammered, fully flummoxed by his assessment. "You can't be serious! I've had a lot going on," she continued, defensively. " _So what_ if I'm a little bit more tired than I normally am? _Who cares_ that going for a run seems like more hassle than it's worth? For God's sake, I ate enough for ten people during my pregnancy, is it any wonder food doesn't hold any particular interest to me right now?" She tipped her chin up at him in defiance and swiped a dismissive hand in front of her body. "This whole conversation is just… insane. _I'm fine._ "

"In just over a month, you've faced a half-dozen life stressors that on their own could cause depression," he answered calmly, in face of her pique. "A new baby, the adoption of a child, the move to a new home, the sale of your old home, a major medical episode with lifelong implications, not to mention your involvement in a very dangerous situation with that Castoro character who's been headlining the news for weeks now. Your temper is shorter than normal, you're defensive, and…" he looked pointedly at her hands as they rubbed at her arms, "…you're more anxious than I've seen you in nearly twenty years of treating you."

"If you're so sure of yourself, then just prescribe me something and clear me to go back to work," she demanded.

"I prefer to medicate as a last resort, you know that," he reminded, quietly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a short stack of business cards, selected one and held it out to her. "I'd like you to consider talking to some—" She recoiled from hand as though it were a snake, fangs bared.

" _I talk_ to Remington," she retorted. "He and I can get through anything together, have proven that time and time again."

"Does he know you're struggling?" Adams pressed.

"No!" she barked. "Because _I'm not struggling._ I'm fine," she asserted again. With a long exhale, Adams considered the woman in front of him. She was stubborn to the core and as a long as she was denying the impact recent events had on her, there would be no getting through to her. Returning the business card to his pocket, he withdrew his prescription pad and wrote out two scripts, then handed them to her.

"A prescription for iron, and a low dose of fluoxetine. If you change your mind about speaking to someone—"

"I won't," she cut him off.

"Then I'll see you in three weeks," he answered, turning to depart.

"And my release for work?" His hand stilled on the doorknob and he turned back around to face her.

"I'm sorry. I can't sign off on that just yet," he replied, with some genuine regret.

" _You just said_ I need to get back to old routines that matter to me. That's exactly what my job is," she argued, passionately.

"I'm not debating you enjoy your job. I also recall when you were a teenager, you used school to hide from your problems, and now you use your work to do the same. Can you deny that?" he challenged. Her eyes widened, her lips moved, but not a word emerged. "Three weeks."

With that, he let the room.


	22. Chapter 22: Revolt

Chapter 22: Revolt

Laura stopped at the pharmacy on the way to the office, diligently picking up the prescription for iron pills. As for that prescription for fluoxetine? It found itself neatly folded into quarters then tucked into her wallet where it would remain. Breezing through the Agency doors shortly after eleven with Holt and his carrier in one hand and her briefcase and purse thrown over her other shoulder, she gave Bernice a wide grin.

"Finally! You have _no_ idea how good it is to be back," she announced to her old friend and the Agency receptionist/administrative assistant. Bernice gave her a doubtful look.

"You may change your mind about that pretty quickly," she answered, drily. She hitched a thumb towards Remington's door. "I don't know what's gotten under _his_ skin this morning, but he's taken it out on enough people that _everyone's_ giving him a wide berth this morning." Laura crinkled her nose at that.

"Then maybe I'll do the same," she grinned, sauntering down the short hallway near the reception desk, and quietly opening the door to her office. As she removed Holt from his carrier, she instinctively turned towards the nursery – which was, of course, located between her office and Remington's.

 _Damn._

Hoping for a bit of good luck, she opened the door, then carefully blanked her face.

 _Double damn._

Remington was standing at the coffee maker pouring himself a fresh cup.

"Well, if it isn't my missing wife and child," he announced, his voice both far too jovial… and loud. "I was just considering calling in the Mounties to launch a search party." She walked past him as though nothing was amiss, rolling her eyes when her back was to him.

"Wrong country, Mr. Steele," she answered in a carefree manner. "The Mounties are in Canada."

"Such a stickler for details, you are, Miss Holt," he answered. "Except, of course, when it concerns, at bare minimum, leaving a note so I might know why I woke to not only an empty bed, but a childless crib." Laying Holt on the changing table, she unsnapped his onesie, to change his wet diaper.

"I told you last night I had a doctor's appointment this morning," she reminded him.

"Which would, of course, require you to leave the house before six." She turned to look at him.

"I thought I'd run a few errands, then drop by that greasy spoon you don't care for and have some breakfast," she lied smoothly, as she secured the tape of the diaper, then began snapping the baby's onesie closed again.

"Ah, so I suppose you sneaking out, as you did, was simply… a display of courtesy?" he asked, sarcasm dripping off each of the last words. He took the baby from her arms, as she picked him up. "When did the babe last eat?" She glanced at her watch and gave the question some thought.

"Seven, seven-thirty. I'm sure he'll be looking for his next meal any time now." With a curt nod, he left the nursery with the baby and walked into her office, retrieving the diaper bag. In the kitchen, he placed two cans of formula concentrate in a cabinet, then craftily opened the third with a single hand. Adding even amounts of formula and water to a bottle, he set it in the microwave to warm.

"And your appointment?" he asked, as he waited for the machine to beep.

"A bit on the anemic side," she answered, honestly. "I picked up the iron pills Dr. Adam prescribed on the way here." A short pause, then she added, "But he cleared me for work," she gave him a saucy look, hoping to make him focus on the last, "…and pleasure." The microwave beeped and he removed the bottle. Placing the top on it, he tested the liquid against his wrist, and finding it satisfactory walked into his office with Holt, taking a seat at his desk.

"I see. Plan to get right to it, do you, then?" He gesticulated with a hand. "Work, I mean, of course." As he slipped the nipple of the bottle into their son's mouth, she propped her bottom on the edge of his desk and shrugged a shoulder.

"I'm not sure how much there is 'to get right to,'" she pointed out, ignoring his implied reference to their conversation the evening before. "So until a new investigation comes through the door, I suppose I'll focus on review with Celek and Burton, see where they stand on their current caseloads, then close out files and prepare for month's end." Steely blue eyes met hers as his jaw twitched.

"I see," he replied, voice cool as the look he was giving her. "Then, by all mean, have at it. I'll finish the babe's meal, get him down for his nap before I leave." Her brows lifted.

"You're going out? I don't recall you mentioning a new contract or a system to inspect."

"Nothing to mention. The O'Connell stores will be ready for final inspection at week's end, and I've a meeting scheduled for the Alhambra gallery on Wednesday, but my schedule is clear until then." Her eyes narrowed on him.

"Nothing on our schedule until _Wednesday_? How long has this been going on?" she worried.

" _My_ schedule. You, however, have two meetings this afternoon, another three tomorrow." He pursed his lips and pretended to ponder the remaining week's schedule. "Come to think of it, if memory serves, your week is fairly packed end-to-end." A hand lifted to stroke her throat, as the implications of what he was saying became clear.

"Need I remind you, Mr. Steele, our potential clients expect you in attendance at said meetings?"

"You're an old hand at creating elaborate explanations for why the illustrious head of the agency is unavailable," he replied, dismissively. "I'm sure you can come up with some viable reason for my absence."

"And where, exactly, do you intend to be when these meetings are taking place?" she asked, tightly.

"I've no idea," he mulled, "Although I'm sure I'll find a way to keep myself busy. Today, however," bottle finished, he lifted the sleepy baby to his shoulder, and patted his back, "I've roped Monroe into lunch, a couple pints, and a few rounds of pool at that little pub you're no so fond of." She flinched, the words a direct payback for her earlier reference to the diner. "After, I'll pick up the girls at school, then spend the afternoon with them and Mirabella, to help ease her in."

"I see." And she did. She'd thrown the gauntlet both by dismissing his concerns the evening before, then disappearing this morning and he'd chosen to accept it, making it patently clear if she intended to continue on in the investigative side of the Agency, he'd have no part of it. The response was so unexpected… so _atypical_ of him… it felt as though a vise had suddenly tightened around her chest, and panic clawed at the edges of her conscious. Slowly, she stood up, then nodded, her face blanked of all emotion.

"Enjoy your day, then." It was the only words she could push past her lips. She left his office feeling as though the weight of the world had suddenly landed on her slim shoulders, and she couldn't help but believe something between them had been irretrievably broken.

* * *

Remington took a long draw from his mug of ale, then leaned over to line up a particularly difficult bank shot, as Monroe cocked a hip on a bar stool nearby drinking from his own mug.

"Surely, mon ami, you did not expect our Laura to so easily agree to such a suggestion?" Monroe queried. Remington watched with some satisfaction as the six ball dropped into the pocket. He carefully evaluated the table.

"Seven ball, side pocket," he tapped the cue on the table next to the specific pocket, then assessed how best to line up the cue ball for the eight, once he dropped the seven. A little bit of nine ball, and a couple of dark ales, had gone a long way towards settling his temper. "Not a'tall. For some queer reason, despite knowing the woman for near on nine years now, I had expected there to be some discourse, some give and take, however." Thinking of how she'd dismissed the conversation the night prior, had his temper surging again, and the sudden jerk of his arm sent the cue ball bouncing off the rails, and straight into the corner pocket. A scratch. Perfect. Monroe retrieved the ball then lined up for his shot, as his rich laughter filled the air.

"Known her for nine years, you might, but even I, knowing her far less a time, would have known convincing her of this little plan of yours would take finesse… Seven in the corner… Or at the very least an angle, rather than going straight at her." Remington gave his friend a sour look as the seven ball dropped neatly into the called pocket.

"Yes, well, I'd been trying to work out how to do just that," he defended himself, as he took another drink. "How was I to know she'd blindside me as she did last evening?" The question drew another amused laugh from his friend.

"I seem to recall, old friend, that our Laura returned to work sooner than this after Olivia was born. How could you think this time would be any different?" He gave Remington a questioning look. "Eight ball, side pocket." He focused on his cue stick, deciding how much top spin would be required to land the cue ball precisely where needed for the nine.

"Because she bloody well didn't come close to death after our daughter's birth!" Remington retorted, passionately. He watched as the cue ball nipped the eight, dropping it in the side pocket, then rolled to the end of the table, providing a direct shot at the nine. With a quick, smooth stroke, Monroe finished the game, then returned his cue to the rack.

"Let's have a seat, shall we?" Monroe suggested. Remington held up two more fingers to the barkeeper indicating another round of ales were wanted. The pair slid into opposite sides of the booth. "Do you know what I most recall about our Laura when first we met?"

"That she was the most stubborn, infuriating woman you'd ever met?" Remington postulated, with a lift of a brow. Monroe barked a laugh.

"That, mon ami, would be your burden to bear, not my own." He paused while the two pints were dropped on their table, then fingered his mug before speaking again. "Her fire. Her fearlessness. But above all else, the pride you could not hide when it came to those very same things." Despite himself, the reminder had that same glint of pride flashing in his eyes. "I may well incite your ire, Mick, but I feel it incumbent upon myself to suggest it is not she who blindsided you, but you who blindsided our Laura." That glimmer of pride turned to glower.

"However do you arrive at that preposterous idea?" he asked, shortly.

"Had there been any recent discourse on this matter? Had you made the suggestion, then allowed her to dwell on it, determine if it were a change could find a way to live with? Or did you simply announce your decision and expect her to fall in line?" Monroe pressed. "For if it was the last, my friend, all who know our Laura are aware she falls in line for no man, not even you." Remington flopped back in his seat and stared first at Monroe then at his mug considering the charges just levied… then shook off the notion.

"I'm not asking she give up the Agency altogether, for Christ's sake, only that we disband the part that brings with it the greatest risk," he argued.

"The very part of the Agency to which she is most devoted," Monroe countered quickly. Remington huffed out a breath of air and drew a hand through his hair.

"I'm afraid, our time's come to an end, mate," he announced as he slid out of the booth and stood, offering his hand. "I promised the girls I'd be at the school to take them home today. I'll see you at the table Friday, if not before."

Monroe watched his troubled friend walk away, them tipped back his mug of ale for another drink.


	23. Chapter 23: Stalemate

Chapter 23: Stalemate

Laura glanced at her watch, then at the rearview mirror to check on Holt. Remington abandoning her to take the afternoon meetings alone had forced her to reschedule the appointment she'd made to walk through the building space Jocelyn and Melina had agreed would be perfect for the home base of the foundation. Worse, she was running behind, her last meeting having run long, notably due to the constant assurances required that Mr. Steele would be overseeing the investigation closely in supervisory capacity. Now, it was approaching five-forty when she'd agreed to meet Meredith at five-thirty. It was with some relief that she watched Meredith leaning against the wall of the building they were to meet at, scanning a file in her hand. A corner of her mouth quirked upwards as she admitted to herself Meredith had long ago recognized a set time was really nothing more than an approximation when it came to the Steele's.

Swinging the Explorer into the small, six space parking lot that was adjacent to the building, she turned off the motor and quickly got out. She'd already called Remington and told him not to wait dinner on her, she'd pick up something while out, assuring him she'd be home in time for the girls' bath and bed routine. To say he'd been … put out… would be an understatement, but in her mind he was living with the consequences of his own choices. Hopping out of the truck and closing the door behind her, it didn't take long for her to grab Holt, sleeping in his carrier in the backseat, and walk around the building to greet the realtor.

"Hi, Meredith, thanks for waiting," she greeted, exchanging handshakes with the woman as she looked around the neighborhood in which they were standing. She was familiar with the area, the building located in a respectable enough area, but within walking distance of neighborhoods inflicted by severe poverty. Location wise it certainly fit the bill of what they'd been searching for.

"Not a problem," Meredith answered, brushing off Laura's tardiness with aplomb. Bending over, she peeked at Holt, gently touching his curled hand with the tip of her finger. "He's getting so big already." Laura smiled widely.

"He is. I suspect he'll have his father's height." She pointedly looked down at her own petite frame. "Thank God." The two women shared a laugh, then Meredith turned to the double glass doors, to unlock them.

"After you."

It was a simple building. A large, open sales area when you walked in, with a sales counter along the left wall. At the back of the shop were two surprisingly large offices, a small bathroom, and a roomy closet that could be turned into a mini-break room – well, it had enough room for coffee maker, mini fridge, microwave and a small table with two chairs in her estimation. A door at the far back right of the sale's area led to a non-descript area with a few rows of racks and a garage door.

She had to agree with Jocelyn and Melina. It was a perfect space for their needs. The two offices would provide an office for Melina and Jocelyn to share, as they'd seldom be 'in house' at the same time, and the smaller one would be more than sufficient for the part-time attorney. The retail space was considerable, and would hold a large inventory, while the back 'warehouse' area would be an ideal donation sorting and storage area.

Taking a pad and pen out of her purse, she walked the space again, making a checklist of those things in need of repair, replacement or simply to be purchased. It took her a little more than an hour to catalog everything and by then Holt was awake and growing restless. Given Remington's stance that morning, she and Meredith worked out the offer price for the building, and after writing a check to accompany the offer, she finally departed for home.

It was seven-forty-five by the time she dragged herself through the front door. Wearily, she dropped her purse on the credenza, dropped her briefcase on the floor, then carefully set Holt's carrier down. Releasing him from the straps that held him secure in the device, she lifted him to her shoulder, while forcing a cheery note into her voice as she called out…

"Girls, I'm home." Olivia's happy squeal could be heard coming from the playroom, and a scant second later, her tiny Mary Janes were tap-tap-tapping on the floor as she ran in her mother's direction.

"Mommy!" Laura kneeled down, strategically angling her body, so Livvie wouldn't collide with Holt when she threw herself into her mother's arm. "You misseded dinner, Mommy," Olivia admonished, a lip stuck out in a pout once hugs were exchanged.

"I did," Laura agreed, pretending contrition as she drew out the word. "I suppose I'll just have to sing you an extra song tonight. What do you think?" Livvie nodded eagerly, as Sophie stood by patiently, waiting to greet Laura. "Hi, Sophie Bird," she smiled. "Are you going to scold me for missing dinner as well?" Sophie shook her head slowly, and went willingly into Laura's embrace.

"I missed you," the little girl whispered next to her ear, making Laura's heart melt.

"I missed you too, sweetie, terribly." Leaning back she looked her little girl in the eyes. "I promise I'll be home tomorrow in time to take you to dance, and then we'll go to McDonalds for dinner as an extra birthday treat. What do you say?" Livvie squealed with delight and danced on her tippy-toes at hearing mention of McDonalds. Unlike all their little friends at preschool, they _never_ went there.

"Okay," Sophie quietly agreed. Laura pressed a kiss to her cheek, then stood up.

"Alright girls, upstairs with the both of you. As soon as I get the baby changed, we'll get your baths started," she announced, as she herded them in the direction of the stairs. "Whose bathroom is it to be tonight?"

"Mine!" Livvie answered, immediately. "But we's gonna sleep in Sophie's room tonight!"

"'We're going to sleep'," Laura gently corrected. "Alright, then go pick out your nightgowns and I'll be right there."

The girls scampered off to the right side of the stairway while Laura turned to the left, her shoulders noticeably drooping. She was bone tired, and there was still the nightly regiment to get through. More to the point, it appeared Remington had no intention of assisting in their routine. She quickly and efficiently changed Holt's diaper, then dressed him in a sleeper. After laying him in his crib, she turned on his mobile to entertain him while she attended to the girls.

She'd just helped the girls out of the tub, when Remington appeared behind her, holding out a towel and wrapping it around Livvie, while Laura did the same with Sophie. Dried off, dressed, hair combed and teeth brushed the girls were hustled off to Sophie's room. Much like when they slept in Livvie's bedroom, Olivia slept in the bed closest to the door, while Sophie chose the bed nearest the windows. Much to Laura's surprise, Remington volunteered to read that night's bedtime selection : Dr. Seuss's _The Foot Book_. The girls giggled throughout the tale, he making a fine display of changing his voice on various quirky turns of phrase. As promised, after prayers were said, Laura sang the girls two songs, before turning off the bedside lamp.

"Good night, sweetie. I love you," she told Sophie quietly, as she stroked her hair then bent down and bussed her forehead. Sophie's answering smile was enough to light the room. She and Remington exchanged places once he'd said his good nights to Olivia.

"Good night, baby. I love you," she whispered to her first born, as she caressed her cheek, then pressed a kiss to it.

"I love you too, Mommy," Livvie answered, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck and giving her a hard hug.

They exited the girls' room, leaving the door open a crack, but that is where the normalcy of the evening came to an end. Crossing her arms and rubbing them, shoulders slumping, she averted her face from the man before her.

"I have a long day tomorrow. I'm going to bed." With that, she turned away and walked to their bedroom, shutting the door behind her, indicating his lack of welcome as she prepared for bed. His jaw clenched and he flicked a disgusted hand at the closed doors, emphasizing the gesticulation with a little…

"Pffft."

If she expected him to come after her, grovel for her forgiveness, to vow he'd let this go, she was sorely mistaken. Going downstairs, he fixed himself a couple of fingers of scotch on the rocks, then journeyed outside to sit on one of the Adirondack lounges positioned at the end of the deck, overlooking the beach below.

It wasn't as though he'd expected her to simply give in to his desire to close the investigative side of the Agency. This was Laura, after all. He'd expected some reasonable discourse, a volatile explosion of temper now and again, even the cold shoulder for a spell. What he hadn't expected was her imperiousness, decreeing there'd be no more speaking of the matter. And to sneak out of the house as she had this morning? Well, _that_ had just set his blood simmering.

Then on top of it all, wandering in just as it was time to put the girls to bed. His temper had moved from simmering to boiling. It was one thing to take out her anger on him, but to involve the children? They weren't three days in the new house, the girls were still adjusting, and suddenly this new 'nanny' had become part of their routine. Livvie had been full of questions as to why, Sophie had tried her very best to render herself invisible. More questions from Livvie about where the baby was. Then to sit down at the dinner table, with Laura absent? Well that had resulted in a sulking Olivia and despondent Sophie.

He shook his head, allowed himself a moment of indignity, snorting with derision as he recalled her words during their most recent discourse.

* * *

" _ **Then to completely shut me out as you have? How many times do I have to tell you what it does to me?"**_

* * *

She was often as guilty as he in that, he raged, as he took another drink of his scotch, focusing on the burn as it slid down his throat, warmed his stomach. How could she not know after all these years spent together, that those walls she'd put up when injured, angry, were as toxic, as torturous, to him, as they were to her? Most of his childhood he'd been invisible to whatever new 'family' he found himself with… when he wasn't on the receiving end of someone's displeasure, their wrath. It was those years that had taught him to turn inward in times of strife – or to flee - should he wish his fragile hold on hope to remain intact. If she was so bloody concerned by how it made her feel when he shut her out, shouldn't she at least question the same treatment's affect upon him?

Yet, here they were once more, those damnable walls of hers back in place. Shutting him out, all because he'd dared suggest they prioritize their family over the Agency. _My God,_ he muttered to himself, _It's not as though I suggested closing the bloody Agency altogether or that giving up that side of the business won't be difficult for myself as well._ He loved the mental challenge of solving a complex case, the adrenaline rushes… how it was somewhat similar to being in one of his beloved movies. It was truly one of the great pleasures of life, chasing clues, suspects, solving the mystery with his bright, intuitive, often frustrating partner. It was the very spice of life.

But this was _their family_. It was the two of them. It was her. If anything were to happen to one of the children, to her, he wasn't quite sure how he'd find his way past it. Selfish, or not, he wasn't willing to risk finding out.

That she was willing to? Well, what precisely did that say?

With that thought in mind, he took another drink of his scotch and stared out across the glistening water.

* * *

Laura crawled into bed, and pulled the covers up under her arms, lying flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. The only light in the room came from the moonlight gently cascading into the room through the French doors she'd opened in the hopes the soft breeze, smell of the ocean and the sounds of the waves would soothe her to sleep. No that she held out much hope for that, given the weighty thoughts on her mind and her general misery.

She was irritated with herself at the moment, to boot. Despite the fact Remington was furious with her, that she was put out with him, even, she needed the comfort of his presence more than she had since the day he'd lay in ICU, after Roselli had taken her. Since his nearness was not even a consideration, she'd resorted to old habits, dressing for bed in the shirt he'd worn that day. It smelled of smoke, cologne, and most importantly, of him. Turning onto her side, she buried her face in the collar.

Despite Dr. Adams assumption she was sleeping more than normal, the fact was, she was barely sleeping at all. Snatches here and there, for the most part, her troublesome thoughts, her mounting insecurities, her increasing anxiety, following her into her dreams, waking her in a cold sweat throughout the night.

So many changes, so many nearly disastrous events, in the time span of only a few months At Christmas it had been just her, Remington and Olivia. It had been… perfection. Then Lina had arrived, expanding them to a family of four. Not that she was begrudging Melina's arrival, by any stretch of the imagination. She'd been nothing short of a godsend, stepping in, helping with Olivia, so there had been no need of a nanny… and she was family, it was as simple as that.

In January, she'd turned thirty-five. _Thirty-five!_ Where had time gone? It was unimaginable she'd already lived half her life, maybe even more, and yet she felt the same as she had at twenty-five: Young, vigorous, two lifetimes of goals, hopes, plans in front of her. But now with ten less years to do them in. Hardly a woman who dwelled on vanity – which was why she found so much amusement nit-picking at Remington for his – it was nevertheless shocking to see the fine lines around her lines, predicting the wrinkles to come. And, if her general weariness was any indication, she no longer bounced back from physical trials as she once had.

Then, there had been Sophia. Traumatized, gentle, targeted Sophia, expanding their family suddenly to five. Sophie who had captured her heart without ever trying, who had garnered Olivia's immediate and unflagging loyalty and devotion. She couldn't imagine their lives, now, without their newest daughter a part of it and her fears the little girl's daily presence would be a never-ending reminder of Remington's betrayal with Clarissa had never come to fruition.

Instead, it had been Gabriel Castoro who'd been the brutal reminder of all Remington had done, and what the price paid might have been. She'd forgiven him, long ago, for his duplicity with Clarissa – there had, after all, been no choice if they were to move forward together. But, as she'd said to him the night before, it hadn't been the _Agency, a case,_ which had brought Castoro into their lives, but Remington's continued association with the woman. _His choices._ His acquaintanceship, possibly friendship, had been the impetus for Clarissa's declaration to the police that Sophie should be taken to Remington Steele and, in turn, their pursuit of the man both responsible for Clarissa's death and who wished his own child dead.

And it was Castoro's determination to quiet his child, her protectors, that could have cost all of them their lives, that had sent her and the girls into hiding in Twin Pines. Had it not been for that…

She shuddered violently and tucked those thoughts safely into a box buried deeply within her.

Then along had come their sweet baby boy. The thought of him brought the briefest of smiles to her face, before it faded. A family of six now, they'd had to let go of their imperfect, but perfectly loved Holmby Hills home. A new home. A nanny to assimilate into their lives. The return of the nightmares of her time with Roselli, which she'd believe gone forever.

Now, Remington wanted her to give up the part of her job she most loved. He'd made it clear this was a choice between the Agency and their family.

In light of other matters, she couldn't help but wonder if she didn't give in to his demands, would this be what finally made him walk away?

She pressed a hand to her chest and willed herself to breath.

* * *

For the first time since they'd first shared a bed, Remington slipped under the covers wearing his full set of pajamas. His heart clenched in his chest when he caught sight of what Laura had chosen to wear to be that evening. It had been so long since she'd sought whatever security she should find by garbing herself in one of his unlaundered shirts that he couldn't recall when that last time was.

He wanted to reach out to her, to tug her close, to assure her they'd find their way through, but he was still too angry to make that move. Turning his back towards her and facing the outside of the bed, he tried to force sleep to come.


	24. Chapter 24: Divide

_**A/N: This chapter contains mild adult content. If you are under 18 or uncomfortable with such material, please continue to Chapter 25.**_

* * *

Chapter 24: Divide

By the time the weekend arrived, the divide between Laura and Remington had not improved. He'd not budged an inch on his position that if she intended to continue pursuing investigations he'd no longer be of assistance in any form, whereas she'd determinedly marched forward. Tuesday and Thursday evenings, she'd come home, as promised, to take girls to dance class, and for a short time, while dining at McDonald's, the discord had evaporated. There was a good deal of conversation about preschool happenings and many laughs had been had. Sophie, for her part, had attached herself to Laura's side throughout the outing.

On Thursday evening, there were no after dance festivities, for Laura had a stakeout to attend to. There was nothing glamorous, or even exciting, about the case, but that had been alright by her. A good old-fashioned 'catch the cheating spouse in the act' case was the ideal way to get her feet wet again. She hadn't stumbled in until nearly three a.m., the lateness of the hour only compounded by the fact she'd so far come up empty handed… which meant she'd be back at it, after the girls were in bed, the following evening.

At night, since the first time Remington and Laura had shared a bed, they'd always slept touching one another in some manner: an arm around the waist, hands clasped together; he spooned around her; she partially sprawled partially across him. Now they slept as close to opposing sides of the bed as a possible, and both often wondered, if not for worrying the children, if the other would have sought to sleep elsewhere all together. And in those times when one of them woke to find they'd sought out each other in their sleep, whoever it was who awakened would disengage and remove themselves to neutral territory once again.

With their moods growing increasingly black, those at the Agency began giving them as wide a berth a possible unless it was completely unavoidable. Mildred, in particular, worried about her kids. She had not seen them so cool towards one another, so distant, since those days after their marriage upon the tuna trawler. Her own nerves were so thoroughly atwitter, that by week's end Rusty had dragged her to the bowling alley to take out some of her frustration on the pins, while a shared pitcher of beer helped let down her guard.

"Well, Millie, you got me again. Two-thirty-nine to one-ninety-one." Picking up the pitcher of beer, he poured them each another mug. "New pitcher of beer. Ready for a third round?" He nodded his head towards the lane.

"I'm worried about the kids," she blurted out. He leaned back in his chair and hung an arm over the back of it.

"I had an inkling that's what's been on your mind. Tell me about it," he insisted, reaching for her hand.

"Those two kids," she groused fondly. " _Years_ watching them dance around one another, playing foolish games, both of them too damned scared to admit how they felt. Messed around so long they nearly blew it altogether." He reached out and patted her hand fondly.

"So, they're going through a tough spell. It happens to the best of them," he observed.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I've never seen a pair of people better at misunderstanding each other than these two when things get rough," she worried, "They don't talk, they don't pay attention. Stubborn as hell, the both of them." She took a drink of her beer, then sat her beer down and rested her chin in the palm of a hand supported by elbow to score table. "Something's not right with the missus, I can tell you that," she added emphatically.

"What makes you think that?"

"All you have to do is look at her!" she retorted, then patted his hand in apology for her tone. "The baby isn't even two months old, and she's rail thin. She drinks pot after pot of coffee at the office, but I haven't seen her eat a thing this week. And lemme tell you, Mrs. Steele _likes_ her food. It was always one of the big points in the Boss's favor."

"He does put together a good feast. I gotta give him that," Rusty acknowledged.

"She's dragging herself around the office, barely speaking to anyone, even Bernice, unless its business related. She's working all hours of the night, something I haven't seen her do since the Boss disappeared six or so years back. Something's not right with her, I'm telling you," she insisted.

"And Mr. Steele?" he questioned.

"Surly as a bear. Avoiding the office as much as possible," she frowned. "But what really takes the cake is he's been leaving Mrs. Steele to take care of any interviews, handle the investigations on her own. And lemme tell you, the last time _that_ happened, he was…" she snapped her fingers "…poof, gone, within days afterward."

"I know you well enough to know you aren't going to stand by and do nothing. So, what's your plan?" She thrummed her fingers on the score table.

"I don't know. But I'm working on it."

* * *

Laura arrived home at 2:12 A.M. and somehow managed to drag herself out of the Explorer and through the front door of Casa Malaga. The case was a wrap, but the normal feeling of exhilaration was absent. The only thing she felt was an overwhelming need to sleep… for days. Whatever those iron pills Adams had given her certainly weren't doing their job in her opinion. She'd have to speak to him about that at her next appointment.

She was surprised to find a light still on in the family room, and automatically walked towards it. She couldn't contain her shock when she found Melina sitting up waiting instead of Mirabella or Remington.

"Melina? Did Mirabella have to leave?" she asked, taking one heel at a time off and dropping them on the floor. Melina gave her as assessing look, noting how drawn her sister-in-law appeared.

"Sophie woke and couldn't be calmed when she found neither you nor Xen here," Lina answered. Laura lifted a pair of brows as she sat in a chair nearby, wondering if she heard a note of censure in the words, or if it was merely the conjuring of her exhausted imagination. "She called me for help, and I volunteered to stay."

"You didn't have to do that," Laura told her, appreciation sounding through her voice.

"I most certainly did. Livvie and Sophie are my family, and one of them is suffering, terribly." The words had been spoken with such condemnation and with just enough anger, that Laura's mind came fully alert.

"What do you mean?" she asked, perplexed.

"Sophie. It seems you and my brother have forgotten it was only two months past when she lost everything," Lina answered, coolly, waving a hand in the air. "There have been too many changes, too quickly. A new family, new house, new nanny, my job, Catherine departing, you returning to work and…" she flicked her hand in agitation "…pffft… the anger between you and Xen, whatever its cause."

"I thought she was doing _fine,_ " Laura defended.

"How do you come to this conclusion, that she is fine?" Lina demanded to know. "She has ceased speaking nearly altogether and her thumb is always in her mouth once more. She barely eats. And now, a return of the nightmares. All she has come to know is new again, except Xenos, you and me. And it is with _you_ she feels most secure. She is lost." Laura studied the hands folded in her lap, then lifted them helplessly and dropped them.

"I don't know what to say. I had no idea." She raised her eyes to Melina's and saw an anger in them that was rarely there. "I should have known," she concluded. With that Melina rose from the couch.

"It is past my bedtime."

They were the last words spoken as Lina left the room. Laura rose and slowly ascended the stair to the bedroom upstairs, going directly to the girl's. Her heart ached when she found her two daughters in a single bed, facing one another, the path of Sophie's tears still evident on her cheeks while Livvie kept a protective arm around her sister's waist.

"Oh, Soph," she whispered to the room.

Tucking both girls under the covers, she stroked Livvie long, dark hair for several seconds before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Livvie's compassionate nature was once of her greatest attributes, in her opinion. Going around to the other side of the bed, she sat down next to Sophie, and while stroking her hair, much like she had Livvie's, said a silent vow that she'd find a way, do whatever was necessary, to set her young daughter's life aright again.

With a kiss to Sophie's brow, she left the room and went to the nursery to check on Holt. Just stirring for his midnight meal, she traipsed back downstairs, and made his bottle, along with a cup of wine for herself, before returning to the nursery to change then feed him. At least he seemed no worse for the wear, with all the recent changes in their lives. He gurgled and cooed around the nipple, clearly pleased with both formula and mother. Once he was settled, presumably until morning, she showered, pulled one of Remington's t-shirts, the tall glass of wine and simple exhaustion seeing her quickly to sleep.

* * *

Dawn was threatening the horizon when Remington stumbled through the front door of the house. His pockets were flush with blunt won at the table that evening and his troubles had been blissfully forgotten thanks to the ample amount of drink that had flowed from nine in the evening until well after three. Unfortunately, this meant the Explorer was currently at Monroe's and he'd had to depend upon the services of a taxi to bring him home. He neither had any idea how much he'd shoved at the driver a few minutes past, nor did he care.

A check on the girls found them fast asleep, his liquor soaked brain not thinking to ask why it was they were in one bed. Holt, as well slept, a peaceful tilt of his lips on his face, the bottle sitting on his dresser attesting his evening meal had already been served.

He didn't even bother to shower, stripping down next to the bed, until only his boxers remained, then tumbled into it. He couldn't resist the impulse to lift a heavy fall of Laura's hair over her shoulder, so that he might see her face. He missed her like a heroin addict might miss a fix. No matter how angry he was at her, the touch of her hand, the smell of her hair, her long stride, the proud tilt of her chin, the lilt in her voice… those lovely brown eyes… never failed to make him ache for her. The absence of their conversations, good-natured bantering, challenging one another, her warm breath against his neck or her body enfolded into his as they slept, was forming a yawing chasm of despair within his gut, his heart.

She'd been the center of his world for so long, he was no longer quite sure how to function happily without her.

Perhaps it was the alcohol flowing in his veins, blurring his anger or perhaps it was the overwhelming need to be close to her, to _have her back,_ but for the first time in nearly a week, he stroked a hand down her arm. As she had done in her sleep for half a decade in response to that touch, she rolled to him and settled her head beneath his shoulder, splayed a leg over his hip and an arm over his chest.

 _My God._ A tremor passed through his body at the contact with her. He closed his eyes, pressed his nose into hair she'd left wild and curling, inhaling deeply its scent. His heart pounded, head swam and his body responded instantly. His hand stroked her side of its own accord. Her body, as it had for so long, reacted instinctively, pressing closer to him, as she sighed.

From the beginning, they'd never been able to hide from one another, to keep up those protective walls they'd once so often hidden behind, to be less than honest with one another, when making love. Everything they were to one another was present in every glancing touch, each soft sigh, each helpless moan… in the way they spoke one another's names. It had been nearly two months since last they'd made love, since they'd connected completely, body and heart, and he couldn't help but believe that should they make love now, it would help them reconnect, to begin to heal, to let go of some of the anger… to find their way back to one another.

 _I need her back_ , heart and mind screamed in unison.

At that admission, his mind shut down, and he lived in his heart, acceded to its demands. He stroked and caressed her side, her back, her bottom, in that manner thousands of times of loving her had taught him she loved most. When she wriggled and sighed, he rolled with her, until she was on her back, he on his side. His lips found her neck, beneath her ear, with a tug of the collar of his t-shirt, her collarbone, suckling, kissing, nipping, until she began to squirm.

"Remington," she murmured, still lost somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

It was all the encouragement he needed, for even in her sleep she knew it was him loving her. In three artless moves, his t-shirt, her underpants and his boxers landed on the floor. Her legs parted willingly, his body shuddering when he found her already wet to his touch. He shifted, positioning himself at her entrance, as he leaned down to kiss her.

"Laura," he breathed.

She came fully awake at the smell of scotch and smoke on his breath, and some piece of her – some small _irrational_ piece of her, she would later realize, cracked. As he slipped into her, then moved within her, she closed her eyes, drawing her fingers lightly, automatically down his back, through his hair, around his ears. He lathed her breasts with his tongue, nipped and teased the nipples, suckled on her collarbone, her neck. His eyes opened, watched, as she hummed, her body arching.

It was only then, in what was missing that he knew…

But it was too late, as he felt the familiar, oft sought after, tightening in his groin. He groaned as his climax rolled over him, as his shaft twitched, as he spilled his essence within her. When the last shudder passed through his body, he withdrew.

Unlike all the years before, he didn't collapse atop her, burying his face in her neck or lay his head on her breasts, waiting until his body calmed, unwilling to fully relinquish all contact with her small frame.

Instead, without so much as a kiss, he rolled away from her, left their bed and walked into the bathroom. No sooner had the door closed than she heard the shower running.

Numbly, she felt around on the floor, found her panties and pulled them on, the t-shirt afterwards. Burying herself beneath the covers, she drew her legs upward, her arms into her chest, and squeezed shut her eyes.

She didn't even attempt to stop the tears when they came.


	25. Chapter 25: Evaluating

Chapter 25: Evaluating

Over the weekend, Laura devoted herself to spending exclusive time with Sophie, wanting to assess, for herself, if her oldest daughter had regressed in the span of only a week as much as Melina seemed to believe. With that in mind, she upended the traditional Saturday morning routine of Livvie and Sophie running errands with Da while she watched over Holt, and left Remington to his own devices with Livvie and the baby while she swept Sophie away.

First up: Breakfast at that greasy spoon diner she'd claimed to have gone to on Monday. Sophie had been turned inwards – eyes cast downward, thumb in mouth, speaking only when a question was directly asked, if a nod or shake of the head wouldn't suffice – much as Melina had described. It was only through gentle encouragement that Laura managed to get any food, at all, into Sophia, and even then, it was far too little to sustain a growing little girl.

Next up: a trip to the skating rink, for Sophie's first experience with roller skating. Midway through the excursion, Sophie smiled for the first time during their outing. That glimmer of happiness left Laura reflective, and as she guided Sophie around the rink, her daughter's hands held in hers, she searched her mind for when she'd last seen a smile on Sophie's face. She was disturbed to discover it was during their meal at McDonald's the Tuesday prior.

Guilt was swift, and once it managed to sink its teeth into her, wouldn't let go.

* * *

Laura was not, however, the only adult in the Steele household on Melina's mind, which he discovered in a most provoking way. He was stewing in his own thoughts about the events the night before whilst putting cans from the grocery store in a cupboard, when the palm of a hand most unceremoniously smacked him soundly in the back of the head. Startled, he pitched forward, bumping his forehead on a shelf. With a half-groan, half-yelp, he spun to face his attacker.

"What in the bloody hell was that for Lina?" he barked, rubbing at his forehead.

"I expected more of you, Xen!" she berated, wagging a finger at his nose. He pressed backwards against the counter lest that finger get a piece of him. "Should Mama know, she'd have you by that ear, though I've _yet_ to share with her the way you've shamefully neglected to see what is happening with your own child! And Papa? You should pray he not discover how you've let Sophie down." He sidled away from her and reached into the grocery bag for more supplies to put away.

"Suf-," he began, then halted the word before completed. He grinned at her, dismissing her comments as a bit of the old Lina's tendency to exaggerate. "A bit out of sorts, yes, I've noticed. But suffering? Come now, Lina. You're being a bit dramatic, aren't you?"

"She doesn't eat when Laura is not here." His smile faded as she advanced on him again, eyes lit with fire. "She barely speaks any longer. Never smiles. Just sucks upon that thumb. Last night she woke, positively inconsolable, not understanding neither of you were here, leaving a stranger here to comfort her, instead. A stranger she doesn't trust at that" Guilt gave him a swift kick in the shin, especially at the last. He hadn't even been aware there'd been troubles overnight.

"Lina-" he attempted, but there was no stopping her now, her temper, when ignited, was one that rivaled Laura's. If he hadn't already had a clue just how upset she was, when she switched to her natural language, he'd have been a fool to miss it.

"Το πιο σημαντικό μάθημα μητέρα και πατέρα σας δίδαξε ήταν να αγαπάς και να προστατεύεις τα παιδιά σου. Θυμάσαι τις πρώτες μέρες σου μαζί μας?" she lectured. "Προσπαθήσατε να είστε αόρατοι. Η μητέρα της πέθανε. Ένα νέο σπίτι. Μια νέα μητέρα _και_ πατέρα. Μια αδελφή, τώρα αδελφός. Τότε ένα άλλο σπίτι. Μια νέα νταντά. Τώρα, η μητέρα της επέστρεψε στη δουλειά. Είναι φοβισμένη, Xen. Περισσότερο από ότι ήσασταν!"

As well as he spoke Greek he wasn't perfectly fluent, especially when someone was speaking to him as rapid fire as Lina. But, he'd understood enough of what she'd said to get the gist of it: If nothing else Marcos and Elena had taught him to value children, to protect them. No one should know better than he how terrifying it was to arrive in a new home, to try to be neither seen nor heard. There had been far too many changes in Sophie's life, and he'd failed in his duty to make her feel secure. He leaned his backside heavily against the counter behind him and ran a troubled hand through his hair.

The stomp of a small foot behind them had both their heads turning to find Olivia standing, fists on hips, chin tipped up in anger.

"Don't yell at my Da, Thea Lina! It's not nice!" Livvie demanded. Remington stooped before his daughter.

"You're quite right, a stór, it is not nice to yell at someone. In this particular case, however, Thea Lina simply wished to make sure I was listening," he reassured his daughter. "Now, off you go back to the playroom until it's time to make lunch. Thea Lina and I need to speak privately." He turned her around and gave her a playful swat on her bottom. When she scurried away he stood and resume unpacking the groceries. "Lina, I'll admit, I didn't realize how serious things may have become with Sophie. I noticed her reticence with Mirabella, her lack of appetite, but I thought it nothing more than a temporary response to all we've had going on." She huffed her irritation.

"Then open your eyes and truly see what is before you, before it is too late."

Much like the evening before with Laura, with those final words she left the room and sought out her niece in the playroom.

As he finished storing the remaining groceries, his thoughts were troubled. It seemed to be all falling apart, everything that he and Laura had fought to create, and he had no idea why, let alone how it happened so quickly. Was it only ten nine days ago they were celebrating the finalization of Sophie's adoption? It felt like another lifetime.

The sound of Holt's cries transmitted over the baby monitor. Placing the final bag of vegetables in the crisper, he closed the refrigerator door, folded up the bag and placed it in the trash can, then left the kitchen to tend to his son.

* * *

Laura and Sophie returned home shortly before lunch was set on the table. Promising Olivia that she'd do whatever the girls wished when she returned home. Then kissing Sophie goodbye, she informed Remington she had a couple of matters to attend to at the office and she'd be back within a couple of hours. While work always awaited, in some form or fashion, it was another prevarication. If Lina were correct, as she had been about all else so far, then Sophie, who'd complained she was hungry in the Explorer on the way home, would refuse the meal in her absence. If that were the case, she needed a plan on how to make her daughter feel more secure.

For most of her life, when she was troubled she'd go for a run, clear her head, then attack the problem with a fresh mind. Today, she went to the office as she'd announced, but ignored the stack of files waiting on her desk. Instead, she removed a blanket and pillow from the cabinet where it was stored in her office and settled on the couch. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

* * *

When Laura arrived home two hours later, as promised, the girls were napping on Sophie's bed upstairs. She was thankful in this, as she needed some time with Remington to pump him for information. She found him in the theater room, baby monitor on the table next to him, watching a movie she couldn't attach a name to although, she was fairly certain she'd watched it with him several times. She was surprised to see a glass of scotch sitting on the table near his elbow, as he rarely drank more than a glass of wine with lunch during the midday. His eyes flicked in her direction, although his head never turned, as he reached to pick up the glass and take a swallow. She sat on the opposite side of the sofa, crossing her legs, politely watching the movie for a few minutes before speaking.

"How was lunch?" she inquired politely. He thumbed the rimmed of his glass thoughtfully.

"I think we can agree, no matter the… problems… between us, they should not be permitted to affect the children, correct?" She smothered the stabbing pain in her heart at his words.

"I do," she rasped, silently cursing the voice that betrayed her. He nodded slowly.

"As do I," he agreed. "The answer is: she did nothing more than stare at her hands throughout the meal." He took another drink, then returned to thumbing the rim of his glass. "Barely our child for more than a week, and we've failed her." The thought troubled him deeply. How was he any better than all those adults in the periphery of his childhood who'd failed him, when he just done as much to his own child?

"I won't argue we missed things, important things, which should have been obvious to us. But we _haven't_ failed her. And we won't. We _will_ make this better for her," she insisted.

"Have a plan do you?" This time it was she who nodded her head.

"A beginning at least," she acknowledged, as she stood. Crossing the room, she stood with her back to him, fingering her throat as she thought through what she was considering aloud. "Starting Monday, I'll pick up the girls from school each day. Since Sophie feels most secure with me, I'll be here each day while she gets to know Mirabella. Meetings with new and current clients will be scheduled no later than one-thirty, to assure I can be at the school on time. Any information on cases that needs to be followed up on during those hours, Burton and Celek will have to handle, in addition to their current investigative load. And in exchange, if there are additional leads that need to be checked out during the evening, I'll handle those after the girls are asleep." His jaw twitched at her proposal, which made it abundantly clear she had no intention of letting go of any part of investigations. Inhaling slowly, she turned to face him, crossing her arms around herself and rubbing at them with her hands. "You'd need to be at the office in the afternoons to supervise, address any emergencies that might come up. Is that alright with you?" The coolness of the blue eyes which came to rest upon her attested to the insult he felt at the question.

"Of course." She chill in his voice made a shiver skitter down her spine.

"I thought it would be nice to take the girls to the park today…" Picking up the remotes, he flicked off television and VCR, then stood.

"I'll go change. We'll go when they wake." Her eyes followed him as he left the room. When she was alone, she wearily sank down on the couch and pressed her hands against her face, then began to rock, seeking to comfort herself.

* * *

The afternoon at the park worked magic with Sophie, albeit temporarily. Melina, when she heard plans of the afternoon excursion, decided to accompany the family. Games of tag and hide-and-go-seek with Livvie, Melina, Laura and Remington, followed by several rounds of girls only ring-around-the-rosie, then a trip to the swings, with Da pushing Livvie and Mommy pushing Sophie, helped the little girl forget her worries for a while. At dinner that evening, the little green eyed, blonde nearly cleaned her plate, and ate every last bite of her dessert. During bedtime routine that evening, she was bright eyed and chatty – the Sophie they had come to know in the few weeks before all the changes took place.

It was therefore unexpected when her cries roused Laura in the middle of the night, despite the distance between the master and Olivia's room. Jumping out of the bed, it took a long heartbeat as she pulled on her robe, to realize Remington was not in the bed beside her. She swallowed her emotions down and rushed to Sophie's side. By the time she arrived, Livvie had already climbed into Sophie's bed and had wrapped her arms around her.

"It's okay, Sophie. It's okay. I'm here."

Laura's heart tugged at the sight. She was tempted, briefly, to usher the girls off to the master bedroom to sleep, but in the instant her lips parted to do exactly that, she realized the number of questions it would invite about Da's whereabouts. So instead, she slipped her slim frame beneath the sheets and sandwiched Sophia between her body and Livvie's. By the time Sophie hiccupped a final time some twenty odd minutes later, she made the decision to stay in the room with the girls for the night in case there was another crisis… refusing to acknowledge the decision was, at least in part, an excuse to avoid her own, empty bed. Climbing into Livvie's bed, she was soon fast asleep.

On Sunday morning when she woke, she found Sophie cuddled in her embrace, while Livvie was sprawled out across the other bed. By the time she'd showered, dressed and pulled her hair back into a French braid, Holt was ready to begin his day as well. Diaper and clothing changed, she settled into the rocker with her son. She sang softly to him as he fed, her finger stroking his chubby little cheek, before it was gripped by his strong, tiny hand. The action first brought a smile to her, then a sudden wave of melancholy washed over her. Beginning the following day, she'd have even less time with him than she did now, time already far too meager in her eyes. But if she was going to leave the office in time to pick up the girls each day, she'd have to be out of the office far more often than not, chasing leads, eliminating suspects, conferring with witnesses – all of which would mean time apart from the baby.

How much would she miss out on? What would she miss out on? His first real laugh? The first time he rolled over? The first time he pushed up on hands and knees? His first word? He was the last first she'd ever experience and she wasn't prepared to give a single one of those moments up.

"My sweet, baby boy," she murmured, bending own her head, breathing in his fresh, soft scent then nuzzling her head against his shock of silken, raven hair. She looked up when Olivia barreled into the nursery.

"Mommy, where's Da?" she asked, expecting to find him still sound asleep.

"I think he may have fallen asleep downstairs in his theater room watching a movie last night, baby." Lifting Holt up to her shoulder, she patted his back until he let out a resounding burp. "Let me put Holt in his crib and I'll come help you girls get dressed, then you can go off in search of him, huh?"

"Okay, Mommy," Livvie agreed, prancing out of the nursery and back down the hall to her room, trumpeting that the day had fully begun.

Much like the day prior, this day focused on drawing Sophie out, assuring her that despite all the recent changes, her world, essentially, would remain much the same. Brunch was followed with time at the barre in the studio, then art projects in the playroom. Naps in the hammock after lunch – sans Remington who'd begged off to run a couple of errands, ha! – then family time down on the beach. In the early evening, as Remington and Livvie worked in easy camaraderie preparing the evening meal, Laura and Sophie escaped to her bedroom. Despite the early hour, they curled up on the bed and listened to Rosemary's _Bedtime Stories_ together, bringing a piece of comfort from Sophie's former life into the current.

"Soph?" Laura spoke her name quietly as the album came to an end. Sophie rolled over to face Laura, regarding her silently with large green eyes. "You know Da and I love you _very_ much, don't you?"

"Yes," she answered whisper soft.

"And Thea Lina, Livvie and Holt as well?"

"Yes," Sophie relied in that same, small voice. Laura reached out and stroked the side of her daughter's head.

"I know there have been a lot of changes lately. Our new house, Thea Lina and I going to work, Mirabella coming to help with you," Laura summarized the most recent events. "Adults, even Mommy and Daddy's, sometimes forget all these changes can be very frightening, even confusing, for a little girl." She stroked her head again, then palmed her chin in hand, and looked her in the eyes. "I'm so very sorry Da and I didn't realize how hard it's been for you, sweetie. But I promise you – _I promise you_ – it's going to be okay, and _in time_ it won't be so frightening any longer. In fact, I think you'll be very, very happy once it doesn't all seem so… big." Sophie blinked her eyes several times.

"I miss you," she announced in a heartbroken little voice. Laura pressed a kiss to her head and drew her into a tight hug. She allowed herself a long moment to berate herself, wondering how it was she'd forgotten that since Sophie's arrival, during their days in Twin Pines, it was she that had been the most constant person in the little girl's life and how her sudden disappearance, in Sophie's eyes, might impact her.

"Oh, Soph," she soothed, then drew back to look at her daughter in the face. "I miss _you_ , too. When I'm at work, I think about you and Livvie – _all the time._ And I promise you: Da and I would never, _ever_ do anything that we thought might hurt you. You know that you, don't you?" After a couple of heartbeats Sophie nodded, but her eyes showed her uncertainty, underscoring exactly where her daughter's emotional health stood. "I'll tell you what. Starting tomorrow, I am going to pick you up at school _every day_. I will stay here with you in the afternoons _with Mirabella_ , all the way up until you go to sleep at night."

" _You will?"_ Sophie asked, hope and surprise infusing her voice.

"I will, for as long as it takes for you to feel safe, and, I hope, to realize all these changes are not so much frightening as they are exciting. What do you say?" Sophie wrapped her arms around Laura and laying her head against her chest, nodded. Laura held still until Sophie was prepared to let her go, then looked down at her. "Now, let's go downstairs and see what kind of trouble Da and Livvie have gotten themselves into in the kitchen." Sophie giggled, then scooted to the edge of the bed and dropped to the floor.

"Okay," she agreed readily, walking around the bed and taking Laura's hand in hers.

Together they went downstairs, Laura hoping this was a true turning point for her little girl.


	26. Chapter 26: A Visitor

Chapter 26: A Visitor

By mid-week, there had been several more 'shifts' in the lives of the Steele family, some of them promising, while others were far less so.

Laura's more frequent presence seemed to be working its magic on Sophie. While still not effusive towards the new nanny, she at least had stopped trying to make herself invisible, instead watching Livvie's interactions with Mirabella with a pair of observant eyes. On Wednesday, with no dance class demands that afternoon, the quartet went down to the beach where Sophie even agreed to make sandcastles with Livvie and Mirabella, so long as Laura remained at her side.

"Mir.. Marbella," Livvie began to ask a question, when Mirabella interrupted her.

"My name is rather long and can be fairly difficult to say, don't you think?" the caretaker inquired. Livvie nodded her head in agreement. "My brothers and sisters call me 'Miri'."

"That's like me and Sophie!" Livvie observed excitedly, bouncing on her knees. 'Liv-vie,' 'So-phie' and 'Mir-ri'."

"It _is._ That's a very smart observation," Mirabella praised. "So, you like it?"

"Yes!" Livvie confirmed emphatically. "Miri, why don't the sand sticked together by itself?" she wondered, as she poured water from one sand pail to the other, while Laura watched as Sophie silently mouthed 'Miri' several times as though trying it on for size. Mirabella sat back on her heels, giving the question some thought.

"That's a complicated question," she answered. "In school, do you ever use paste?"

"Uh-huh. At art time," Livvie replied.

"Well, you know how when you put two pieces of paper together, they don't stay together without the help of paste?" Both Livvie and Sophie nodded. Laura smiled a stroke a hand down Sophie's braid in answer to the first interaction of any kind she'd shown with Mirabella.

"So, water is liked paste?" Livvie inquired.

"Yes, in a way. When paste makes two papers stay together that is called a 'bond', the same as with water and sand."

"Ohhhhhhhhhh," Livvie answered, then looked at Laura. "Mommy, Miri's smart!"

"Yes, baby, she is," Laura smiled. She couldn't help believing things with Mirabella might work out after all.

* * *

Remington stood at his office window, morosely, sightlessly, staring out over Century City, deep in thought. While he had, quite honestly, dozed off on the couch Saturday evening, that he was tempted to continue to do so only added to the myriad of troubling events in recent weeks. It had taken a great deal of will power, on his part, to return to the bed they shared on Sunday evening… and Monday, as well as last evening. The only thing that fueled his fortitude to do so was the words Laura had said to him over and over again throughout the years:

* * *

" _ **But I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to open myself up to you, to let you even further in if it that means when you shut me out the hurt only runs deeper."**_

* * *

Time and again he'd failed her in this area, his own first inclination being to isolate himself when angry, injured or confused. If he did it now, they might not have the chance to repair whatever had seemingly broken between the two of them.

Whatever that was…

And right now, he was angry, injured _and_ confused.

Confused because he had no idea when exactly it was Laura had so thoroughly distanced herself in her mind from him, when those sodding walls had gone back up… or _why._ He'd chewed on these questions incessantly these past few days. Did it go all the way back to Sophie's arrival? What was it Laura had said the night he'd brought up shutting down the investigative branch?

* * *

" _ **But Castoro wasn't an off-shoot of one of our investigations, was he? He was a byproduct of your secret, ongoing relationship with Clarissa!"**_

* * *

He couldn't say why, but he didn't believe so. The situation had been difficult, but not things between them.

Had she not been able to get past the way he'd shut her out while she was, in her mind, banished to Twin Pines? He'd willingly bet all that he had that was not the case. They'd been happy… blissfully happy, at that – in the days after Holt was born.

Did she blame him, then, for her health crisis? If she hadn't been in Twin Pines, her doctor would have identified the complication for what it was. Did she believe the outcome wouldn't have been so dire? That she'd still be able to have children? Had she _wanted_ more children? They'd never spoken of more than two, and, even then, when he began thinking about a second child he'd been nearly certain it would take a great deal of convincing on his part to sway her towards his way of thinking. Now, with Sophie, they already had three children, so he didn't believe it was the latter. But the former? He supposed it was a possibility she blamed him for not being here in LA when Holt was born.

But even then, in the days and weeks since she'd been released from the hospital, she hadn't been distant… cold… with him. Yes, she'd kept herself inordinately busy afterwards, but all had been fine between _them_. He'd swear to it.

Could this, all of it, actually come back to his suggestion they close the investigative side of the Agency?

If it were… Well, his blood began to simmer at just the thought. How many times had she declared they, their family came before Agency?

Yet, whatever the reason, there was nothing in his mind that could excuse the other night. Yes, there was something not right between them. Yes, he'd wanted her, desperately so. Yes, in some part of his mind, he'd been hopeful rejuvenating their physical relationship would spark them to build a bridge over whatever this divide was between them. He'd been making love to her. Not having sex with or shagging, but _making love_ to her, every touch, every kiss, communicating how he felt for her while she'd been… just going along.

To add to his confusion, he wasn't certain who he was most angry with. Himself, for not realizing until too late, that when she'd fully awakened she'd… checked out? Or her, for turning what had always been the most sacrosanct act between them - the act in which they not only expressed what they were to one another but during which there had always been an unspoken promise between them that they'd never hide from one another – into just another shag.

No, even worse than just another shag, for he'd always made certain whatever woman he was sharing a bed with was both fully willing and fully pleasured.

He'd never had a woman… submit… to him. That it was his wife? _Laura?_ The woman who submitted to no one… man, woman… most especially him?

The intercom on his desk buzzed, pulling him from his increasingly insulted, infuriated thoughts. Spinning around, on his heel, he jabbed at the button.

"What?!" he barked. On the other end of the line, keeping the smile plastered on her face, Bernice ground her teeth. She'd about had her fill of the sniping and snapping coming from him, the sometimes imperiousness, other cool detachment, coming from Laura. If something didn't change around here soon…

"Mr. Steele," she forced a pleasant tone to her voice for the potential client's sake, "Ms. Katherine Simone is here to see you." The name was vaguely familiar to him, but not enough so to pique his interest. He glanced at his watch. Four-twenty. He'd planned to stop at Maxie and Veronica's to check in on them before going home. Holt should be waking any minute now, then they could be on their way.

"Does she have an appointment?" he inquired.

"No. No appointment," Bernice replied.

"Tell him we've a mutual acquaintance, if you wouldn't mind. Edward O'Shaunessy," the woman's cool, cultured voice requested. Turning her head away, Bernice rolled her eyes, and huffed.

"She says you have a mutual acquaintance. Edward O'Shaunessy." In his office, Remington froze. It was a name from another lifetime. Edward O'Shaunessy. The Dublin Crusher. A ruthless… broker… with a long list of less-than-reputable clients who'd pay top dollar to acquire what they desired. He'd crossed the man once, when he'd been hired to retrieve a priceless artifact by the rightful owners of said piece… a piece stolen for one of O'Shaunessy's clients. When Daniel had informed him seven years ago that O'Shaunessy had finally found himself tucked snug in the pokey for his various misdeeds, he hadn't exactly been disappointed, for it was one less of his old adversaries who might be seeking a piece of his hide.

His head snapped up and jaw clenched, when his mind connected that vague notion of the name 'Katherine Simone' to the person.

"Send her in," he snapped. Turning off the baby monitor and placing it in a drawer, he stood, not bothering to fix his tie or put on his jacket, then added, "And Bernice, we're not to be interrupted."

"Yes, sir," she answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. Slapping down the phone's receiver into its base, she stood and plastered a false smile on her face. "Right this way, Ms. Simone." The statuesque woman followed behind Bernice, while casting a look of derision at the other woman's back. She'd been insulted from the start that Bernice hadn't recognized her, as she was quite used to being a woman whose face few forgot. Bernice swung Remington's office door open and held out an arm of invitation for the woman to enter. "Anything else, _Mr. Steele?_ "

"That'll be all, Mrs. Wolf," he dismissed. She slammed the door behind her, marched to her desk, grabbed her purse, and left the office without another word. Let someone else man the damned phones, for she'd had enough of Sir Surly for the day.

Behind Remington's office door…

"What a… difficult… woman. You really should consider fir—" He strode across the office as the woman spoke then grasped her by the upper arm.

"What are you doing here, Felicia?" he demanded to know, not bothering to disguise his fury. "I thought I'd made myself clear years ago that our association, in any form, had good and well ended when you conspired with the man that nearly killed my wife!" She struggled against his grasp and yanked her arm free.

"Really, Michael, such roughness is hardly in keeping with your image as a gentleman," she scolded, then sidled up to him, running her hands up his chest, over his shoulders and looping her arms around his neck. "It's been years, as you pointed out, since my little… lapse. Don't you think it's time to let bygones be bygones?" she suggested, one hand caressing his neck, the other burying in his thick hair, and urging his head downwards.

When her lips met his, he didn't retreat. Did he fall into old habits, receiving the kiss, not particularly responding, merely humoring her? Or was it, that for the briefest of moments, it felt… _good_ … to be so openly desired by a woman? Regardless of the reason, he found his senses soon enough, and clutching both of her upper arms, removed her person from his.

"Need I remind you I'm a married man, Felicia?" he asked, drolly, as he took several steps away from her.

"Married," she agreed, her eyes flickering over his wedding band, as she approached him again, "But, perhaps growing bored with domesticity?" She pounced, clasping his head in her hands, latching her mouth to his, kissing him hard. With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her, parting his lips when her tongue touched them in a hint. Her flavor was familiar, like a good white wine once enjoyed. Even after all these years, she remembered how to touch him, make his body respond to her instantly – scraping her nails lightly down his back, her hand then caressing a taunt cheek of his bum, while her other hand stroked his neck. But as tempting, tantalizing as he might have once found that white wine he'd long ago lost his taste for it, preferring the rich, complex burgundy he'd been imbibing in for years. The touch was missing the tenderness, the emotion behind it, that he craved as a starving man would a piece of bread. Fingers sinking into her waist, he pried his mouth from hers and shoved her away. Wiping his mouth with his fingers, to eliminate any sign of her there, he glowered and pointed a finger at her.

"My marriage is none of your concern, Felicia," he informed her, definitively. "What is it you want? Somehow I doubt this is a purely social call." Walking to his desk, he sat down in his chair and propped his feet on the desk, putting as much space between the two of them as possible

"Where is little Lisa?" she pursued.

"Felicia," he growled, warningly. "My patience is growing thin." Always understanding the point at which he'd tolerate no more of her antics, she wandered the office, running her finger along the back of a chair.

"I've found myself in a bit of pickle, I'm afraid, although through no fault of my own," she announced.

"Of course," he agreed, his voice making it clear he didn't believe a word.

"Now, darling, don't be like that. I'll have you know, I've given up the game," she announced dramatically, as she sat down in a chair across the desk from him, crossing her long, shapely legs. He barked a laugh at that.

"I wonder why it is, I don't believe you?"

"It's quite true, Michael, I assure you. At least for the most part," she qualified. "No, I rely purely on my own charms, now. Haven't taken a thing that hasn't been given to me quite voluntarily for more than a year now."

"I still haven't heard what it is that's brought you here," he pointed out, resting clasped hands against his stomach, "Or why you announced our… acquaintance with O'Shaunessy."

"A job – my last, as a matter of fact – involved retrieving a small Renoir for a recovery fee." She laughed aloud. "A delightfully easy job, it seemed at the time. Very little security, the painting hanging quite in the open." She shrugged a careless shoulder. "I suppose I should have been worried then rather than thanking providence for my good fortune."

"Get on with it," he prodded, gesticulating with his hand.

"As it turns out, that painting was in the hands of one of O'Shaunessy's clients, whose security may have been frighteningly inadequate, but their security cameras were not only hidden, but quite functional."

"O'Shaunessy's out then, eh?" He'd never thought to ask Daniel how much time the man had been given.

"And blackmailing me, I'm afraid," she confirmed. "Either I return the Renoir, or he'll see to it the insurance company and Yard…"

"Are provided copies of the film in which you're the star?" he finished for her, bemused rather than alarmed by her plight. "I still don't see what that has to do with me."

"Why, that little Renoir happens to be on display at Los Angeles's Municipal Gallery as we speak," she informed him, then raised a single brow at him, "And you're going to help me get it back." He straightened his tie and, laughing, gave her a wide smile.

"And why ever would I do that, Felicia?" He dragged his hands through his hair, neatening it.

"For old time's sake?" He barked another laugh, feigning an ease he didn't feel, as he suspected what was coming shortly.

"You've long ago worn out that excuse, don't you think?" he dismissed, returning to his chair to get his jacket from where it hung on the back. Unperturbed, she stood and took his jacket from him, holding it up. Brows knitting unseen, he slid his arm to the sleeves then shrugged it on. Then, when he turned around, there she was, adjusting his tie.

"How _is_ little Lisa, these days? As tiresome, as always?" she inquired, a bit too sweetly for his taste. He brushed her hands away, impatiently.

"Waiting for me to arrive home, as a matter, of fact," he quickly replied. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he guided her towards the door. "So, if you don't mind…"

"Actually, I do," she refused, easily spinning around to face him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "There's only one person I can think of O'Shaunessy wants more than me." She lifted a hand to caress his chest, while giving him what might appear to some a guileless look, but he saw the viper baring its fangs reflected in her eyes.

"Blackmail it's to be, then, eh, Felicia? Why am I not surprised?" Effective blackmail, too, he admitted to himself. Laura had already made it clear she believed him to be on the hook for Castoro's rampage through their lives. He knew with absolute conviction if there were any chance of them repairing their already fragile bond, it would disintegrate when O'Shaunessy, his past, showed up on their doorstep.

"Such a nasty word, blackmail," she poo-pooed, a hand skimming up over his shoulder, to bury itself in his hair again. "Incentive has a much nicer ring to it, don't you think, darling?" Ducking away from her hand, he again placed distance between them.

"Where are you staying?" he asked coldly, jaw clenched and eyes flashing dangerously.

"The Rexford Palms. Suite 1101." He once more guided her towards the door.

"I'll come by this evening," he informed her, hand on the door knob. "And Felicia, stay away from the office. Should Laura discover you're here in LA, I shudder to think how she'll react."

"Of course, darling. We would want to upset Lisa, now would we?" she easily agreed, then lay a pair of cool eyes on him. "Tonight."

With that, she sailed through the door. Closing it behind her, he leaned his back against it and scrubbed his face with his palms.

What had Felicia gotten him into this time?

* * *

Felicia sat in her rental car in the garage of Century Towers near the elevator. Slunk low in the driver's seat, she watched for her target to appear. Michael had been out of the game too long, his mannerisms betraying his nervousness, drawing Felicia's curiosity. Was it that he was worried little Lisa might appear at any moment, or was it something else?

It didn't take long for Remington to appear. As soon as Felicia had left, he'd gone straight to the nursery where he'd found Holt contentedly cooing while kicking his legs. With diaper bag already packed, he'd only had to secure the babe in his carrier and they were on their way home for the day.

Seldom a woman caught by surprise, Felicia was on this day. After her run-in with Michael in France, she'd taken care not to ask after him, for fear of it getting back to him and incurring his wrath further. While generally mild mannered, when he was crossed, one was wise to steer clear of him until his temper calmed, something she'd wisely deduced would be a long time coming after her escapade with that Roselli character.

 _Michael, a father,_ she mused as she watched him open the rear door to the Explorer and securing Holt in the backseat. That he'd committed to a single woman had been shocking, had married that same woman, flabbergasting. But a father? He'd once been as committed as she to not bringing a child into the world… much as he'd vowed never to be tied down by anything or anyone.

 _Little Lisa certainly has her ways,_ she thought to herself.

She started the car when the Explorer pulled out of its parking spot and drove towards the exit of the garage. Putting the car in gear, she followed discretely behind him, wondering what other little surprises she might uncover… and how she could use them to her advantage, if need be.


	27. Chapter 27: Backed Into A Corner

Chapter 27: Backed Into A Corner

Laura sat in her home office sorting through that day's Agency mail, when a large manila envelope piqued her curiosity. She'd brought home the mail and the file for the current case she was working on. Now, with the girls tucked into bed for the night, she was determined to make it through everything before her. With a little luck, she could have the case wrapped up by Friday at the latest, leaving her with an uninterrupted weekend ahead. Which would mean…

Sleep.

Lots and lots of sleep.

She drew in a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly. She was exhausted. Bone deep exhausted. If she'd believed herself to be run down the week prior, well, it didn't even compare to now. Dropping her head forward, she dragged her fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp.

Two more days.

Her head snapped upwards at the tap on the office door. Quickly, she leaned back in her chair, grabbed the envelope from the desk and slipped her finger beneath the flap.

"Laura?" Remington, popped his head around the corner of the door.

"Yes?"

She did her best to keep her face blanked, willing the tingling behind her eyes to stop. She missed him. She missed him with an ache so deep that each time it washed over her she could feel the panic creeping ever more near. Nine years, and not only were the walls between them thicker than they'd ever been before, but there was a coldness between them that had never been there in their worst of times. A coldness so oppressive that made it almost impossible to breath when he was present and left her wanting to burrow beneath the sheets and comforter of their bed, trying to find warmth while she tried for the hundredth time to understand why, how, they'd gotten here… To figure out how to get what they'd had back.

"Laura?" She blinked hard and stared at him, where he was shifting uncomfortably in the doorway having seen the tears glisten in her eyes then dry up almost immediately. "Did you hear what I said?" She mentally shook her head, and leaned further back in her chair, trying to portray an indifferent air she didn't feel at all.

"No. I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just remembered, Holt's two month appointment is tomorrow morning. I have back-to-back meetings scheduled, this case to wrap up, if I haven't by then. Then the girls. Would you be able to take him?"

"Of course. What time?" _She's hurting_. The thought flitted through his mind as he unconsciously took note of the tension she was holding in her shoulders and neck. A month ago, he'd have switched places with her in that chair, tugged her down into his lap then worked every last knot loose, until the strain around her eyes disappeared. Now, he remained in the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Nine-thirty." _He's uncomfortable._ She could count any number of states he'd 'been with her' over the years: Frustrated with, amused with, furious with, impressed with, tickled with, vexed with… in love with. But never, uncomfortable with. "You were saying?"

"Uh, ah, yes." He shifted in his shoes. "I was saying I need to pop by the Agency. I left a set of plans there that I need to go over."

In the answering silence, he waited for it. The slight narrowing of her eyes, the hand fingering her throat, both tells she was suspicious, that her instincts had picked up on some inflection in his voice, some twitch on his face which told her he was being deceptive. He would have almost welcomed the indictment and ensuing confrontation. He wanted her to force him to bear himself, his guilt, his fears to her. He wanted to lay the entire situation with Felicia on her more than capable shoulders. She'd find a way out for them, she always did. He wanted her in his corner, even it meant he was backed into that very corner, her finger wagging in his face, as she laid into him for his damnable past.

"Alright," she answered. She watched as his shoulders sagged, some light that had been in his eyes dimmed. She'd disappointed him, again, and wasn't quite sure what she'd done wrong. She sighed. Dropping the envelope she was holding, she reached for her brow. "Is that all?" she asked wearily, then watched as he bridled at what he'd taken as his dismissal. His jaw clenched, eyes shuttered. A jerk of his head passed as a nod.

"You'll be needing this." He sat the baby monitor on the desk then turned and walked out of the room, without a look back.

She waited three heartbeats then pressed her palms to her face, rocking quietly, battling against the hovering panic, the desolation. _Breathe, just breathe_. She forced a deep cleansing breath into her lungs, willed herself to lock it all away. _You can do this. Focus._

She reached for the envelope she'd dropped onto the desk, and sliding her finger under the flap, unsealed it. Her eyes scanned the business card attached. Evonne Bachmann, LA Times photographer, Lifestyles. _Huh._

She picked up the piece of paper, and read the brief note addressed to her and Remington.

 _Mr. & Ms. Steele -  
I was at the park on Saturday for my niece's seventh birthday party. Your beautiful family caught my eye and out of habit, I snapped a few shots I thought you might enjoy.  
Von Bachmann_

Setting the note aside, she picked up the pictures. In a way, they were a bittersweet reminder of all that was slipping through her fingers. She and Remington, in profile, smiling at one another as they pushed Livvie and Sophie on the swing, the girls' faces lit with the childhood joy that accompanies the feeling of flying. She, Lina, Livvie and Sophie playing ring around-the-rosie, as Remington, holding Holt, looked on in the background. The girls, hiding behind the wide trunk of a tree together, looking towards the camera, a finger pressed against their lips in the classic 'quiet' sign… never aware of Remington peeking down at them around the trunk of the tree, amusement glinting in his eyes. She traced his profile with a fingertip, then pressed her hand to her chest. Giving her head a hard shake, she scrawled a note on the bottom of the photographer's, then stood up and left note and pictures on the kitchen counter where Remington would be sure to see them when he came home.

Returning to her office, she sat down behind her desk, and opened the case file awaiting her. The case had left her thoroughly stumped thus far. She'd managed to eliminate every viable suspect, yet she had neither the stolen contents of her clients' safe in hand nor had identified the culprit. Several times during the case, those short hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end, yet she'd never been able to identify the reason why.

She settled in to review the case from its beginning.

She really needed this weekend free.

* * *

When the elevator door slid open on the eleventh floor at the Rexford Palms, Remington poked his head out the opening and looked either way, assuring the coast was clear. The last thing his marriage could withstand was someone recognizing him and word leaking back to Laura. As if providence hadn't been having a stellar laugh at his expense of late, Felicia's suite was, of course, located at the far end of the hall, risking the chance he still might run into someone before he could safely slip inside. In a dozen long strides, he paused before the door to rake a nervous hand through his hair, before dropping it down and rapping lightly.

He silently cursed when Felicia swung open the door. _I should have known,_ he silently berated himself. The woman thought nothing of blackmailing him and attempting to lure him into a tryst at the same time, as though the former didn't make the latter far less than a palatable idea. Clenching his jaw, he stepped into the room, then waited as she shut the door behind him, then leaned against the door in a seductive pose.

In another lifetime, he'd found her to be both a desired partner in bed and as the occasional partner in crime, as she was significantly skilled, passionate and creative in both areas. They'd crossed paths on-and-off across Europe, sometimes with no more than a passing word. They'd had an easy agreement: If neither of them was currently pursuing other interests, then a friendly shag was more than acceptable, enjoyed even and they'd never remotely entertained it would ever be anything more. Thus, a night or two of carnal sex with a shared goal of only experiencing the ultimate pleasure a time or two was quite 'their thing'. There had never anything remotely tender when they'd come together, and they'd certainly never done what one might term 'making love.' Hard, fast, at times animalistic sex, although never to degree Anna would take it.

They'd carried on under that mutual understanding for near on three years. Then, before Anna had arrived into his life, he and Felicia had worked a job together in Bordeaux, France. Afterward the job was successfully completely, what was meant to be no more than it had ever been, had suddenly taken on a different tone. They'd spent two days snogging their brains out, riding high on post-heist adrenaline, then they'd hopped a train together, bound for Monaco.

In retrospect, it was then that their relationship had undertaken a new tone. Felicia had reached for his hand, from where she sat next to him, and gave it a firm squeeze.

"Three days together," Felicia had remarked, teasingly. "Quite the record for you, Michael. If you're not careful, I might start believing you're hoping to garner a commitment from me."

"No worries, Felicia," he'd smiled, quickly. "I've no interest in a commitment to you or anyone else. I enjoy my life too much, exactly as it is. No messy entanglements, no roots. If I wish to pick up and go tomorrow, I can without consequence or regret."

He hadn't meant to insult the woman, he really hadn't, but Felicia had taken his words as a challenge that had never been issued. While their dalliances had steadily dwindled, her pursuit had escalated. That, too, his own damnable fault. The woman could seduce the bloody Pope if she set her mind to it… and she didn't know all the man's secrets, unlike his own. She knew just where to brush a careless hand, to 'innocently' caress, to set his body immediately on edge. She'd won those early rounds, handily, as he was a man who enjoyed a good round of sex and he knew what kind of bed partner she was.

But, eventually, he was the victor, far more often than not, for the slightly predatory gaze she'd set upon him from time-to-time was warning enough that she was serious about doing what no other woman had managed before: bring him to heel. By the time he'd seen her in LA, he hadn't shared a bed with the woman for more than two years. And when Felicia had realized this little bit of a woman he'd only known a few weeks had caught him by the heart, even if he didn't realize it himself yet? Well, wave the red flag in front of the bull, why don't you? By the time she'd kidnapped and tossed him into an assassination plot, he knew good and well who the only woman was he'd ever make a commitment to… _had_ long ago made a commitment to through deed and it was _not_ Felicia… and, when she'd made another play for him, he'd made himself clear.

* * *

" _ **Tell me, darling: If there were no Laura in your life – See? I got it right that time – Would there be room for me?"**_

" _ **Well, Laura is in my life. At least I think she is."**_

" _ **I must admit, though not for publication, that it's all been quite empty without you, Michael. All rather shabby, no matter how sumptuous the setting or how generous the partner. I should never have let you go. I should have clung to you. I should have fought for you. Will you give me that opportunity now?'**_

" _ **I'm flattered…"**_

" _ **But uninterested."**_

" _ **Let's just say…. Previously committed."**_

" _ **Odd. That's the one thing none of the rest of us could ever squeeze out of you. No matter how persuasive we were."**_

" _ **Believe me, Felicia. I wasn't planning on it."**_

* * *

He'd touched his lips to hers twice, first an acknowledgement of the times they'd once shared, and the second his final adieu. He'd been kind. Considerate. Compassionate, even.

For his troubles, Felicia had conspired with Roselli and put Laura's life at risk.

Now, here they were again.

Blackmail.

And from the looks of things, a hopeful seduction.


	28. Chapter 28: Mixed Partners

Chapter 28: Mixed Partners

"Let's just move past whatever it is you have in mind, with that..." he waved his hand up and down in the general direction of her slinky nightgown, "And get on with this, shall we?"

"Honestly, Michael, you never used to be so uptight," Felicia complained, and she sauntered across the room and picked up a bottle of champagne from out of the bucket staged on a table. "Can't two old friends enjoy one another's company?" She poured him a glass and handed it to him.

"I didn't realize it was the thing, to blackmail your… friends," he pointed out, coolly while accepting the glass.

"Don't think of it as blackmail, darling," she dismissed, breezily. "Think of your helping me as a… mutually beneficial endeavor." She raised her champagne flute in a proposed salute. "To a successful partnership." Automatically, he tapped his glass to hers and raised it towards his mouth, his hand stalling when the glass was halfway there. He took two strides to the table and slapped his glass down on it.

"The only _partnership_ I have, Felicia, is the one with my _wife_ ," he corrected while making a display of looking at his watch. "The one who's expecting me home fairly soon, might I add. So if you—"

"Tell me, darling, how did you escape little Lisa's watchful eye?" she interrupted, as she walked towards him, reached out and ran her fingertips down his arm. He shrugged off her touch.

" _Laura_ is none of your concern." He leaned against the table, crossing his legs at the ankle, his arms across his body, his demeanor both casual and no-nonsense at once. "The business at hand?" She pursed her lips and walked away from him with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

"Very well, if we must," she feigned acquiescence. "Two years ago, shortly after O'Shaunnessy's release, he was contracted by Angus Armstrong-Jones to… procure… _Bal du moulin de la Galette_. Seems Armstrong-Jones' wife had taken quite the fancy to the piece and insisted upon having it." He held up a hand stopping her.

"Angus Armstrong-Jones, as in the Earl of Snowden, Angus Armstrong-Jones?" he clarified, with dread. The Earl and Countess were fast friends of his father and Catherine.

"The one and the same," she confirmed.

"Why in heaven's name would Armstrong-Jones involve himself with the likes of O'Shaunnessy?" She flicked a careless hand in the air, while taking a seat on the bed, pointedly shifting so a long leg was bared nearly to the hip by the revealing gown she wore.

"Ryoei Saito…" she paused and lifted a manicured brow at him. "You haven't been out of the game so long as to have forgotten who he is, have you, darling?" He gave her a withering look.

"Honorary chair of Daishowa Paper Manufacturing. Made international news not a month ago when he threatened to have _Bal du moulin de la Galette_ and van Gogh's _Portrait of Dr. Gachet_ cremated with him upon his death. Caused quite the uproar."

"I'm impressed," she purred.

"Walking the straight and narrow doesn't translate into loss of appreciation for the arts and antiquities, Felicia," he scolded mildly. She shrugged off the reprimand.

"Those threats inspired a great deal of… commitment… by some to see to it the works were protected, including Victoria Armstrong-Jones. Wealthy as the Armstrong-Jones might be, most of that wealth is tied up in entitlements…"

"Meaning they didn't have the liquid assets to make a legitimate purchase, given the painting sold to Saito not nine months past for seventy-eight million," he concluded. "O'Shaunessy's fee?"

"Fifteen million," she supplied. "Needless to say, Saito's insurance company was all too eager to pay a paltry eight for its recovery."

"Which is where you come in…"

"I was ready to retire from the game—"

"Of course, you were," he agreed, sarcastically.

"And the fee would set me up nicely for some time to come," she finished, as though he'd never spoken.

"Until, of course, O'Shaunnessy discovered your involvement." A pained expression crossed her face.

"Yes. Quite a piece of bad luck, that was," she commented, sourly. He stood and paced.

"Have you any idea the position you've put me in? The LA Municipal Gallery is one of our clients, one of our _security_ clients—"

"It would seem that is a stroke of good luck for a change, darling," she mused with a wide smile. "If it's your system, you know precisely how to circumvent it."

"As usual, you're missing the point, _Felicia_ ," he retorted, emphasizing her name. "Should we be caught, that Remington Steele was not only involved in a heist, but from his own client using insider information? It would destroy the Agency, the very Agency Laura has poured her heart and soul into creating, making what it is today." The comment irritated her. _Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa._ Ever since Michael's path had crossed with the woman's, it seemed his every move, every thought, was made with her in mind. Standing, she crossed the room to where he stood, rubbing a hand over his mouth, clearly deeply troubled. She lay her palms on his chest, caressed, then slid her hands upwards, over his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You were once the best in the business," she purred, her fingers toying with his hair. "Such creativity, such daring. Such… finesse." She pressed her palms against the back of his head, and yanked it downwards, latching her mouth to his. Grasping her arms, he quickly extricated himself from her clutches.

"Enough, Felicia," he barked. "How many times must I say I'm not interested in what you have to offer?" he demanded to know. He spun around to face her, then swallowed hard, as her gown slipped to the floor, revealing her shapely body in all its glory. His body reacted viscerally, much to his disgust, as memories of those large, rounded breasts beneath his hands, in his mouth, pranced through his head. A predatory smile lifted her lips, as she slinked forward, her hand zeroing in on the rapidly growing bulge in his pants.

"Are you so sure about that, darling? It seems _someone_ is very happy to see me," she murmured, as her lips settled against his neck to tease. He yanked himself away, then stalked across the room, snatched her gown off the floor and threw it at her. She merely caught it with a bemused smile.

"I'm a married man, Felicia, and even if my vows didn't mean a great deal to me – which they do – I'd still have no interest in what you're offering," he bit out. "You forget, I know what lies beneath that skin. Now get dressed, or I'll take my chances with O'Shaunnessy." Nude, she strolled across the room to the closet, dropping her gown carelessly to the floor.

"I don't believe that at all," she dismissed, pulling a robe from the closet and slipping it on, taking care to face him has she was doing so. "Stealing that little Renoir, carries with it only a chance of being caught, of this house of cards you and your little Lisa have built coming down around you." She yanked the sash of the robe closed and tied it as she walked to the table where her champagne glass called for her attention. She picked it up and fingered the stem, while settling narrowed eyes on him. "Whereas O'Shaunnessy guarantees this little ruse of yours will be uncovered. Can you imagine? All that hard work little Lisa has put into her poor, pathetic little detective Agency… gone… when the great Remington Steele is unmasked as nothing more than a charlatan." She took a long drink of the golden, bubbly liquid, watching as his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. There was a time Michael would never have revealed such a tell, and she savored the weakness it showed, pouncing like a cat upon a wounded bird. "I wonder which humiliation will be worse for Lisa?" she mused, aloud. "Watching her Agency destroyed… Or telling that baby of yours when he's older how his father once stood at the pinnacle of society, only to find himself disgraced when the truth of who he is was revealed."

His temper snapped at the threat directed towards Laura, his son… his family. He stormed across the room, grabbed her by the wrists.

"Leave my family out if this," he warned, eyes and voice cold as ice, jaws clenched so tight only his lips moved. Easily excising her wrists from his grip, she turned and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I must say, I've a certain admiration for Lisa." She held out her hand in front of her, admiring her manicure. "I never quite figured out how she managed to keep you under her thumb all those years, let alone to draw a commitment from you. I thought, for certain, you'd tire of the dreadfully boring game of domesticity forced upon you by the INS, yet here you still are: Living a life of drudgery and now eternally bound to her, as she somehow convinced you to let go of your rigid stance that you'd never father a child. So do, tell, Michael, however did she manage all of that?" He laughed, low in his throat at just how off target the woman was.

"Ah, Felicia," he laughed, low in his throat at just how off target the woman was, "That is what you, or Daniel for that matter, never understood. Laura has never held me 'under her thumb'. I chose to play by her rules, because I knew precisely who and what it was that I wanted. INS or no, I'd have gotten her to that altar, although with a great deal of convincing on my part, I'm sure. Her, our marriage, _our family_ , that is _my dream_." He walked up to the bed and, towering over her, pointed a finger at her. "You'd do well to remember that, because I will do _whatever_ is necessary to protect it." He strode across the room, lay his hand on the door knob. "How long before O'Shaunnessy expects you?"

"Ten days. On the eleventh…" She flicked her fingers. "I don't think further elaboration is necessary, is it, darling?"

"No, you've made yourself perfectly clear. Now let me make myself clear as well: Stay away from Laura, stay away from our home, the Agency, and stay away from our family, or I promise you, you'll have far greater matters to concern yourself with than O'Shaunessy. You'll hear from me in a few days."

He slammed out of the room, forgetting to take heed about who might be lingering in the hallways. For the first time in what seemed like an eon, luck was with him, never encountering a soul until he was safely in the Explorer.

* * *

At Casa Malaga, Laura was diligently going through the case file line-by-line, page-by-page, when she suddenly sat straight up in her seat.

" _Of course,_ " she said the words aloud, drawing them out in her exhilaration. She'd finally found the proof she'd needed and it had been before her the entire time. A few phone calls had confirmed her suspicions and the smile of accomplishment burned bright on her face. Picking up the phone, she dialed Zach's pager number then entered 21911, the office code for call Mrs. Steele at home at once.

Their clients, Barbara and Kent Hawthorne, had hired the Agency to find the missing contents of their personal safe. Those contents? Barbara's considerable jewelry collection, worth an estimated five-hundred thousand dollars as well as stock certificates for such notable companies as IBM, Xerox and Apple.

She glanced at her watch: nine-twenty-five, a perfectly acceptable time to visit a client and inform them their case had been closed, at least in her opinion. Now, she thrummed her fingers, if only Zach would hurry up and get back to her already.

Tapping the keys on her computer keyboard, yielded the name of the Hawthorne's broker. A brief conversation with him, leant further support to her theory. No sooner had she hung up the phone, then it rang.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Steele? It's Zach. What's up?" came their recently fully accredited and licensed PI's voice over the line.

"Whatever you're doing, I need you to drop it," she informed him.

"Not a problem." Cocking his head and securing the phone between ear and shoulder, he leaned back in his desk chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "I'm still at the office, going over all my notes on the Hawthorne robbery," he shared. "I can't tell you why, but it just…"

"Makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up?" she offered.

"Exactly."

"I was having the same reaction," she shared. "Can you meet me at the Hawthorne's in…" she glanced at her watch and calculated the travel time at this time on a Wednesday evening, "…thirty minutes?"

"Sure can," he answered, already getting to his feet and reaching for his suit jacket. "Did you find something new?" She filled him in on what she'd found.

"Oh, and Zach, if Mr. Steele's still there, can you tell him where we're going and that his sister will be with the kids?" With all the tension, the distance, between them, she didn't want to chance he'd return home to find her gone without an explanation.

"Mr. Steele? I haven't seen him since he left this afternoon," Zach answered, clearly puzzled by the request.

"Oh, well, he must have gotten distracted by something on the way there. Never mind, then. I'll just make sure Melina fills him in on where I am."

Hanging up the phone, she picked it up again and dialed Melina's phone number. While Mirabella's job duties, in part, included emergencies such as this, with Sophie still so timid around the nanny, she didn't want to risk her waking from a nightmare and finding Mirabella there, rather than someone she trusted. Thankfully, Melina readily agreed, and five minutes later she was out the door and in the Explorer driving towards the Hawthorne's.

* * *

Thirty minutes after leaving Felicia's hotel room, Remington was still sitting in the Rexford Palm's parking lot, the Explorer's engine idling. He glanced at his watch, then dragged his fingers through his hair. He needed time to think things through. Given the time, Laura was likely already in bed, so his absence would sound no alarms.

With that thought in mind, he put the car in gear and pointed it in the direction of Venice Beach.

* * *

A good minute ticked past after Laura rang the bell at the Hawthorne's Beverly Hills residence. Zach, as impatient as she, stood tapping the toe of a shoe, until the door, at last, swung open.

"Mrs. Steele!" Kent Hawthorne greeted, clearly caught off guard.

"Mrs. Steele?" Barbara questioned, poking her head around the door, and offering her an inquisitive look. "Is something the matter? Did you find who robbed us? Did you get everything back?"

"Would you mind if we stepped inside?" Laura requested.

"No, of course not," Barbara answered quickly, pulling the door open further and inviting them in. "Why don't we have a seat in the living room?"

"I'd like to start with a few questions, if you don't mind," Laura began, once they'd all been seated.

"Anything we can do to help," Barbara agreed. Laura nodded, already feeling a bit guilty over the revelations about her husband the woman would soon hear.

"Mr. Hawthorne, I believe you told us you travel frequently for business, is that right?" she inquired.

"Yes, three, four times a month on average, for the last couple of years," he confirmed.

"To…" she paused, and feigned a look of concentration, "…Chicago and New York, wasn't it?"

"Atlanta, as well," he added. Laura nodded, while smiling at the man, wanting him to remain comfortable.

"Did your travel time increase significantly after your partner was killed in a hit-and-run last year?" she wondered.

"Not at all," he answered. "Paul rarely traveled, leaving that up to me."

"I see. And the driver of the car that killed your partner was never identified, right?" His eyes narrowed on her slightly, an indication he didn't like where this conversation was heading. She suppressed the smile that wanted to cross her lips.

"That's right," he answered, the answer more hesitant than those before.

"This evening, I took the time to check the flights you were booked on over the course of the last six months," she turned cool, appraising eyes on him. "Without exception, each was a round trip flight to Las Vegas. Care to explain why that is?"

"I don't believe I like what you're suggesting, Mrs. Steele," he announced, crossing his arms and leaning back into the couch, the very picture of righteous indignation.

"I had the senior member of our white crimes division take a look at your company's financials for the last two years," she continued, unperturbed. "Between November of nineteen-eighty-eight and February of 1990, there were forty-three cash withdrawals from the company's business account, adding up to the tune of three-hundred-and-eighty-seven-thousand dollars." She shrugged her shoulders. "Then suddenly, the withdrawals just…" she snapped her finger "…stopped, and ten days after they did, a deposit of two-hundred-ninety-eight-thousand was made by cashier's check to that same account." She looked him squarely in the eye. "I had a short, but very informative conversation with your broker this evening, Mr. Hawthorne. He recalls that last year, right around this time, you had him sell off your entire stock portfolio. Do you want to guess the amount he recalls giving you in the form of a cashier's check made out to your company?" Kent's lips tightened in fury, and he remained silent.

"That's not possible," Barbara denied. "I saw our stock certificates in our safe just last week."

"You saw copies. It'll all be clear very shortly, Mrs. Hawthorne," Laura assured her, then returned her focus to Kent. "I noticed, as well, there were several occasions on which you used your credit card to rent a car. More… _business_ … trips?"

"You seem to already know the answer to that," he answered, tightly. Laura nodded, then stood up to pace.

"When did your partner die, Mr. Hawthorne?" she asked, off-handedly, or so it seemed.

"The Ides of March, March fifteenth," Barbara answered for him. Laura nodded her head again and tapped her lips with a single finger.

"You credit card statement shows a charge to Sav-a-Buck car rentals on March tenth, then on March sixteenth, a second charge in the amount of exactly two-hundred-fifty dollars," she advised. "Now, they weren't open this evening, but when I speak to them tomorrow morning, I imagine they'll confirm my belief that two-hundred-fifty dollars was the policy deductible for damages to the car. Am I right?"

"I don't have to sit here in my own home and be insulted," Kent informed her. I'd appreciate it if you would both leave." Standing, he began walking towards the front door, only to find his way blocked by Zach.

"Mrs. Steele hasn't finished," he told their client. "I believe you should hear her out." Laura paced closer to the opening of the living room while Kent backed away from Zach a couple of steps.

"Witnesses who saw the hit-and-run stated the car was a newer model, black Mustang," Laura continued. "What type of car did you rent that weekend, Mr. Hawthorne?" Panic shone in the man's eyes.

"You can't prove anything," he challenged.

"What happened? Did your partner find out you were stealing from the company accounts in order to feed your gambling addiction?" Laura hypothesized.

"I had as much right to that money as he did," he answered, angrily. "We were _partners._ But when he found out I'd been withdrawing money from the company, he threatened to have me charged with embezzlement unless I paid back every penny within two weeks. I sold all of our stocks, and still came up eighty-nine-thousand short. I promised to repay it all, if he'd only give me a couple more weeks, but the bastard wouldn't give me a break."

"So you killed him," Laura finished. "Then, after he was gone, you emptied the company accounts, before devising a plan to make it appear you were robbed, in order to collect the insurance premiums. Isn't that right?"

Afterwards, she'd swear it had all happened in a split second. Kent roared his fury, and taking a step forward landed a solid, unexpected punch in Zach's midsection, taking the detective to his knees.

"There's no way I'm going down for this," the man bellowed.

Out of instinct, Laura stepped in front of him to prevent him from leaving. She was suddenly airborne. With a nauseating thump, her side made contact with the edge of the buffet, and her head cracked against the corner of the hutch. She slumped to the floor, seeing stars, her head roaring with white noise, as pain radiated through her ribs.

"Zach," she croaked. "Go after him. Don't let him get away."

As Zach, still short of breath, leaped to his feet and pursued their former client, Laura shifted to her hands and knees, squeezing her eyes shut as her head spun. Her mouth filled with saliva, her stomach threatening to lose its contents. She stayed there, panting, for how long she didn't know. But suddenly, Zach was there, kneeling beside her.

"Mrs. S., I think I'd better call an ambulance," he worried.

"I'm… f-… fine," she panted. "Just give me a minute. Hawthorne… Where's… Hawthorne."

"I locked him in the hall closet," Zach grinned, unseen by her. It was with a great deal of relief that she realized the banging wasn't in her head, but Hawthorne demanding to be let out. Finally, through sheer will power alone, she stumbled to her feet.

"Call the police," she instructed. "His battery of you and I should be sufficient enough to put him behind bars for the evening. I'll call Jarvis first thing in the morning and fill him in on the rest."

As Barbara Hawthorne showed Zach where the phone was, Laura eased herself down on the couch to wait. Lifting her hand, she tentatively explored where her temple had hit the hutch, and instantly regretted that she had. _Ouch, that's gonna leave a mark_ , she thought to herself.

She'd have to wear a bit more makeup than usual tomorrow to conceal the bruise that was sure to come, for she had no intention of Remington ever finding out about what had happened here tonight.

* * *

Remington arrived home a little after one. Out of habit, he wandered the lower floor of the house making sure all doors were secure, then paused in front of the keypad for the alarm system. They'd yet to engage the system since they moved in, and he wondered, more than once, why he'd even bothered. The only time the thing so much as bleeped was when the doors to the deck were opened, alerting the adults in the household a child might be wandering out to the pool area alone. Fact of the matter was, engaging the system didn't feel like an added measure of safety but felt… oppressive, as though they were locking themselves away from the world at large. With a flick of his hand, he ignored the thing, and went into the kitchen for a glass of water.

The papers on the counter caught his eye as he was filling a glass from the water dispenser in the refrigerator. He fingered the note on top, as he took a sip of water.

 _R-  
I thought you'd enjoy these. Who knows? Maybe they'll inspire a new sketch for one of the girls.  
L-_

He traced the letter "L" with his finger, the note reminding him how commonplace they'd become in his life the last five years. While he and Laura spoke throughout the day and evening, sometimes the mundane little details of life would slip through their fingers, and a hastily scribbled note, left on credenza, bedside table or kitchen counter would serve to rectify that little problem.

 _R-  
Dry cleaning needs to be picked up.  
L-_

 _L-  
Chez Rives tonight at 8?  
R-_

The little details of their lives. Details he terribly missed.

Shaking off the morose thoughts, he picked up the stack of photographs and thumbed through them, the picture of Sophie and Livvie hiding behind the tree particularly striking a chord in him. It had been a truly good afternoon, that day, during a time when good afternoons were far and few between.

With a sigh, he set the pictures on the counter, washed his empty glass, and went upstairs. He crossed the master bedroom on catlike feet, neither wishing to wake Laura nor to invite perilous questions regarding where he'd been that evening, if she even cared to ask. Even worse, if he could still smell Felicia's perfume lingering on his person, could still taste traces of her on his mouth, what might Laura pick up on? A hot shower and good teeth scrubbing was in order and accomplished in relatively short order. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Holt's cries could be heard coming through the baby monitor. As he shoved his dirty clothes into the hamper, he watched as Laura struggling to push herself upwards, preparing to leave the bed to tend to their son.

"Go back to sleep," he told her, in a voice kept purposefully hushed, so as not to rouse her completely. With a groan, she sank back down onto the bed, pulled the covers up around herself and fell right back to sleep.

A trip downstairs netted him a warm bottle for Holt's meal. After changing his son's nappy, he settled into the rocker with the baby in the crook of his arm, prepared to spend some quality time with his son. These nighttime feedings were something he looked forward to, often sharing his day in an animated voice that had the baby's eyes fastened on him the entire time he spoke. This evening, of course, there was much he couldn't share lest he wished to chance being overheard, and he certainly did not. Instead, he told the baby the story of the night in Greece when he'd shared his dream with Laura, the dreams of Olivia, of Holt, and the family he and Laura would have together.

With the baby fed, burped and slumbering, Remington reluctantly lay his infant son in his crib, then quietly crawled into bed. Turing to face the outside of the bed, he sought sleep's blissful escape, hoping his dreams would not be filled with all his troubles, but instead of the good times he and Laura once shared.


	29. Chapter 29: The Plot Thickens

Chapter 29: The Plot Thickens

Laura stepped out of the shower, sucking in a harsh breath, her head pounding at the minor bit of exertion. She winced as she reached for the towel on the rack, the movement tugging on her tender ribs. For the first time in their marriage, she'd closed and locked the bathroom door behind her, unwilling to answer any unwelcome questions Remington would ask should he walk in.

The simple fact was that she was angry with him, a conclusion she'd reached on the drive home the evening prior. Zach was a good – very good, actually – private detective, but he lacked the instincts her husband came by naturally. Remington would have been on his toes, prepared for a sudden move by Kent Hawthorne, whereas Zach had assumed their quarry was cornered. Oh, there might have been a scuffle, probably would have been, but she and Remington, together, would have subdued Hawthorne likely unscathed.

She scrunched her face unhappily as she surveyed her already black and blue ribs in the bathroom mirror. Tentatively, she probed each rib, visibly grimacing when her fingers encountered a particularly tender area. Her experience told her two of the ribs were likely cracked, although not broken, and a third was seriously bruised.

With a resigned puff of air, she reached for the Ace bandage awaiting her on the counter. Several times, as she wrapped the support bandage around herself, she had to bite down on her lower lip, to keep from moaning aloud or yelping, each movement of her arms, most notably her left, sending white hot pain jolting through her. She was panting, by the time she completed the task. Closing her eyes, she focused on a bit of mind over matter.

Dressing had proved to be another test of her mettle, had required another round of deep breathing afterwards. But, successfully completed, wholly on her own, had left her feeling… accomplished.

She reached for her brush and muttered a curse under her breath.

She hadn't been this banged up since Roselli kidnapped and tortured her back in eighty-six. In the days afterward, she'd required an inordinate amount of assistance in the most basic of personal tasks: bathing, dressing, doing her hair, her makeup. She'd drawn a fine line at anyone brushing her teeth or helping her in the restroom, but elsewise she'd taken the help offered with gratitude instead of argument.

Hair pulled back and makeup on, she critically assessed the job. Unless someone was looking for it, the bruise at her temple which extended from under her hairline until nearly her brow, was well-concealed from sight. She allowed a moment to collect herself, then stood and, gathering her dirty clothes, left the bathroom. Dropping her clothes onto the bed, a peek into the nursery found Holt still sound asleep, although he wouldn't remain that way for long. In her estimation, given the girls were downstairs having breakfast with their Da, now was the perfect time to start a load of laundry, which could be moved to the dryer when she came home that afternoon.

Opening the hamper, she began to reach for the clothes contained within when her hand jerked to a stop. Hesitantly, she picked up the shirt he'd worn the evening before and brought it to her nose. She closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply, seeking the reassurance his rich, woodsy scent always brought. Only now it seemed somehow… different, slightly foreign. Instead of finding herself blanketed in comfort, aching loneliness and a deep melancholy washed over her. Letting her arms fall, eyes still closed she drew in her lips, scrunched her face and inhaled a shuddering breath, letting it out slowly, until she'd safely boxed those feelings away. Tossing the shirt back in the hamper, she leaned over to gather the entire load in her arms…

And froze.

She stared at the shirt she'd just returned to the hamper, her emotions careening wildly from utter disbelief to the fury of betrayal to abject despair. With shaking hands, she picked up the offending object and studied the stain on the collar, trying to convince herself she was seeing things. But there it was. Lipstick. Too bright, too showy for her taste. Slowly, she lifted the shirt to her nose and inhaled again. Then again. Now, she identified the slightly foreign undertone that she'd smelled before: a woman's perfume. Heavy, musky, but perfume none the less.

He'd lied to her.

When he'd arrived home after one, she'd made another faulty assumption. He was probably out taking a long walk, she'd reasoned, as he often did when under duress. After all, it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to walk for hours when he needed to clear his head. Or maybe he was simply avoiding her for as long he could, also fairly commonplace these last days.

But never once had she considered…

She hadn't even realized that she'd been backing away from the hamper, as though she'd released something evil from it. She hadn't realized was crying, until some of the make up she'd just put on seeped into her eyes, making them burn. Her fingers opened of their own accord and the shirt fluttered to the floor where she left it laying, and swiped angrily at her eyes, willed the tears to stop their flow. She marched into the bathroom, repaired the damage done, then grabbing the rest of the clothes, plus those from the bed, she stalwartly left the room.

* * *

"Laura," Remington called from near the front door. "Where might I find Holt's insurance card?" She hadn't said two words to him all morning. Bloody hell, spoken to him? She'd avoided him as a thief might a bobbie. The one time she'd even so much as glanced at him, she'd immediately turned her eyes away from him. Reasonably, he considered the possibility she might not answer now.

"Side pocket of my wallet," she called back. With a lift of his brows and a shrug of a shoulder, he picked up her purse off the credenza, opened it and reached for her wallet.

His fingers faltered at the sight of the letter he'd given it to her at the Friedlich Sensitivity Spa. She'd carried it with her ever since. He reached for it, then with a shake of his head, changed his mind. It suddenly felt like an invasion of her privacy, to take it out, to read the words, even though written by his own hand. Turning the wallet around, he fished out the papers tucked into the other side: Sophie's recently issued insurance card, Olivia's card that was looking a bit tattered, a folded slip of paper, Laura's insurance card, then finally Holt's. Slipping it into his shirt pocket, he began to return the others to her purse, when his curiosity got the better of him….

Right or wrong.

And it was certainly wrong, he admitted to himself.

He frowned as he studied the prescription written by Dr. Adams eleven days ago, his temper mounting. She'd lied to him. She only need a little iron, she'd said. Well, a doctor he might not be, but he knew whatever it was written here wasn't a prescription for iron. What was she hiding from him? Was she ill? Were there even more ramifications from the placenta increta than anticipated? Could whatever it was account for her distancing herself from him?

He didn't know. But, tucking the slip of paper into his pocket next to Holt's insurance card, he vowed to find out.

* * *

Laura was just concluding her meeting with a potential new client when Remington arrived, Holt in tow, after his pediatrician appointment.

"Mr. Steele, I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you," the short, balding man greeted him, holding out a hand. "Frankly, I was beginning to wonder if I was just being fed a line when the little lady told me you'd be overseeing my case, personally." Remington instantly disliked the man.

"I can assure you, my partner is eminently qualified to handle your case from its inception to end by her own device alone. But, it has always been the policy of the Agency that I oversee any case we decide to take on."

"If you'll just see Bernice at the front desk, she'll verify your contact information, and we'll get back to you," Laura directed.

"That's a handsome boy you have, Mr. Steele," he admired, seeming not to notice Laura's presence. "Going to follow in his old man's footsteps, run the Agency one day?"

"He'll follow whatever course it is that makes him happy," Remington answered vaguely. "If you'll excuse me, I've an appointment across town in thirty minutes."

He quickly ducked into his office before the man engaged him in further conversation, Laura close on his heels.

"Tell me you don't intend to take that man's case," he commented, as he sat Holt's carrier on the sofa and began to unbuckle the straps.

"No. I'll have Bernice call him in an hour or so and make our excuses," she replied. "How did Holt's appointment go?"

"In summation? We've a strapping young lad here," he grinned. "Eleven pounds, seven ounces, and he's grown two-and-a-half inches since birth. He's another appointment next month for his first shots." He carefully transferred the baby to her waiting arms and was left utterly confused when her face pinched with distress. Were they so far gone that she couldn't bear even the glancing touch of his hand against her arm? He glanced at his watch. "If I have any chance, at all, of being on time for my appointment with Sanderson, I have to leave now. After, I'll have a spot to eat, then stop by the LA Municipal Gallery, as they've had a couple of alarms trip for seemingly no reason over the past week."

"When did he eat last?"

"This morning at the house. I imagine he'll be looking for a meal any time now." They fell into an awkward silence, leaving both shifting uncomfortably. "I'm off, then," he announced. With a final, long look at her back, he turned and departed.

She suppressed a moan as she leaned over and placed the baby in his swing.

"Alright, sweet boy. I have one more meeting before lunch, then it's just you and me," she promised, caressing his silky shock of hair, his large, blue eyes peering up at her. She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. Depressing play on the tape deck, she adjusted the volume, so that soft strands of a lullaby filled the room. Turning on the baby monitor, and picking up the handset in her hand, she returned to her office, her next prospective client due in under ten minutes.

Easing herself up on the window sill, she rested her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the people milling about below. She and Remington were quickly approaching the point where decisions would have to be made. Her brows drew together. _Had_ reached that point, she corrected. She hadn't been able to stop dwelling on that shirt all morning. She couldn't… wouldn't… be her mother: the wife who was left for another woman.

Even more so, she didn't have it in her to turn a blind eye to an affair. It had been one thing when, during their convoluted romance, she'd believed he was still routinely bedding other women. While it had stung, she'd had no more claims on him than he'd had on her. But for a man who'd remarked for years about his regard for their vows? She snorted a short laugh.

Apparently, he didn't view them with the same sanctity as her.

Trust. For years it had been the biggest issue between them. His past, her past, her waiting for him to leave, him waiting for her to send him on his way. It had taken hard work, on both their parts, to open up, let the other in. And eventually he'd come to be the person she trusted most in this—

Her brow furrowed again, as she watched the very man she was thinking about exit the building and stride across the promenade. It was on a very rare occasion that he didn't park in the garage, for the man was convinced parking in the open lot would mean countless dings upon his vehicle.

Abruptly, she sat straight up, gasping gutturally at as her ribs announced themselves, and shooting pain rippled through her body. Still, her widened, disbelieving eyes never left the scene playing out below…

"Michael!" a woman's voice called.

Remington stumbled to a stop, his fury, his panic, instantaneous. Before he could turn around, Felicia was on him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips on his. In a repeat of the prior evening, he grabbed her by the upper arms and shoved her back.

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear, Felicia," he bit out, somehow plastering a smile on his face that he gave to a passerby, "That you are to stay away from my home and the Agency." He nodded to an accountant from the thirteenth floor.

"How else am I to get ahold of you, darling, should I need to speak with you?" she questioned. He'd no idea what Felicia was about this morning, but even he could figure he needed to get her away from Century Towers and fast. He resisted the urge to look upwards towards his office, instead giving Felicia's arm a tug. "Let's go," he ordered, walking her towards his SUV in the parking lot. A Cheshire cat grin spread across her face.

"I do so enjoy when you take charge," she told him, a seductive layer to her voice. Yanking open the passenger side door of the Explorer, he shoved her in without ceremony and shut the door. He pulled the vehicle over to the curb, just around the corner from the parking lot, and cut off the engine.

"You have thirty seconds."

"When do you plan to visit the Gallery?" she inquired.

"Today," he answered, then added firmly, " _Alone_."

"Really, darling, don't be this way." She caressed his upper arm. "It was you, after all, who always trumpeted that little witticism, 'two eyes are better than one.'"

"The Gallery is a security client of the Agency," he countered. "I already have the blue prints of the museum, the schematics for the system I designed. This little trip is to merely determine where, exactly, that painting hangs. Nothing more." He leaned across her and shoved the passenger side door open. "Now, if you don't mind…"

"Not just yet," she refused. "How am I to reach you, should I need to?" She lay a hand on his thigh, stroked it. "Unless, of course, you enjoy these tete-a-tetes as much as I." He brushed her hand away, and opened the glove box, removing a memo pad and pen. He hastily scribbled his pager number on a sheet of paper, ripped it out then returned pad and pen to whence they came.

"My pager. Use 1101 if you need to speak with me." With a catlike grin, Felicia reached for the offered paper, only for him to keep firm hold of it. "Use it sparingly, Felicia," he warned. "Test my patience, and I may well decide to take my chances with O'Shaunnessy and allow you to face your own consequences with the bugger." He released his grip on the piece of paper, then indicated the open door. "If you don't mind?"

"Very well," she acquiesced, stepping down out of the vehicle. "I really wish you'd consider, darling, how enjoyable this little reunion of ours could be if only you'd let go of your silly notions about monogamy and blackmail."

"I've all the enjoyment I need in my life," he dismissed, eyeing the door pointedly. "As I said, I'm late for an appointment."

"Have a good day, darling. We'll speak soon."

With that parting remark, she shut the door. Turning over the ignition then putting the car in gear, he drove away wondering how he'd extract himself from Felicia's neatly sprung trap without putting everything that mattered to him at risk.

* * *

Laura pressed a hand to chest, feeling sick at the scene playing out before her in the promenade below.

" _Felicia,_ " she spat out. "I should have known!"

Seeing the woman and Remington kissing, in one another's embrace, confirmed all her worst fears. In light of the damage wrought by the placenta increta, coupled with her refusal to close down the investigative side of the Agency, he was prepared to move on to greener pastures. Already had one foot out the door, as a matter of fact. All the signs had been there, she simply hadn't wanted to believe them. His lack of amorous attentions in the weeks after her diagnosis, his utter disappointment verging on disgust the night she'd woke to find him making love to her, his annoyance that she couldn't see herself as only wife and mother… his abandoning her to continue investigations on her own, no matter the potential consequences.

 _Felicia!_

In nearly a decade she'd only felt threatened by three of the women from his past and present. Anna, who'd spun her web tightly around him, with near fatal consequence. Felicia, who'd made it clear she, Laura, would never be enough for him – in or out of bed. Clarissa – for the obvious reason of finding him at the altar with the woman. Yes, Shannon had caused them complications, but far because of loathing for her philandering husband than any belief the woman posed a true threat.

 _Felicia!_

She'd always known she, alone, wouldn't be enough to keep him here. What a fool she'd been to finally believe otherwise.

Her temper surged. Shoving herself off the window sill, she nearly tumbled to the ground when her ribs screamed and head pounded at the sudden, quick movement. Panting a few short breaths, she fought to gather herself, then reached for the phone.

"Krebs, here," Mildred answered from her office.

"Mildred, my office now. And tell Bernice, to have Ms. Britt to cool her heels for a few minutes, until you and I are done."

"You got it," Mildred replied, then hung up.

Dropping the receiver into the base, Laura stalked over to her filing cabinet, and after yanking out the file she'd long ago begun on Felicia, slammed the drawer closed.

He wanted out? She'd give him out. She'd prove him to be the cheating louse he was.

And afterwards?

Tomorrow night, after the children went to bed, she'd tell him to pack bag and baggage and get out. Casa Malaga would go up for sale, and she and the children would move back to the Holmby Hills home she loved. Mirabella could take the guestroom and Melina could stay on at Casa Malaga until it sold, and then, she was more than welcome to use Remington's old apartment or the Wilshire Apartment. He could stay on with the Agency as long as he wished, he was part owner after all, plus even a few more days would give her time to figure out how to script the exit of the famed head of the Agency without the Agency suffering too much for it.

As for the children? She would never interfere in his right to see them as often as he wished. They needed him, as much as, she still believed, he needed them.

 _More changes_ , she simmered. Olivia would be devastated not to have her Da there each morning when she woke, when she went to bed at night, and all the time they normally spent together in between. Sophie. _Oh God, Sophia_ , she bemoaned silently. Who could even predict what his departure would do to her? True, Sophie was attached to her the most, but to Sophie Remington was Da, the only father who'd ever treated her with kindness. Only Holt might escape the dissolution of their marriage, their home, unscathed.

Mildred's sharp rap on the door tore her from her thoughts and she turned to open it, ushering Mildred in, then closing it behind her.

"What's up?" Mildred asked, her face illustrating her concern.

"I need you to set everything on your desk aside for the next couple of days, and handle an investigation for me," Laura instructed. The older woman's face changed from concern to eagerness in a flash.

"Really?" she asked. "What's the case?" Laura slapped the file into Mildred's hands then began to pace the room.

"I want you to find out where she's staying, then I want you to get the goods on our Mr. Steele's little affair," she announced.

"Af-, Mr. -. No. He wouldn't," Mildred protested. Her eyes flitted to the name on the file. " _With her?_ Sorry, Mrs. Steele, but I'm not buying it. He loves you too much! And with _her_ of all people." Laura's lips tightened and her eyes flashed fire.

"Believe it, Mildred," she snapped. "I just saw them kissing," she swept her arm in the direction of the windows, "With my own two eyes. I want the proof." Mildred's heart fluttered in her chest, and not in a good way.

"Then what do you plan to do?" she asked with considerable dread.

"Tomorrow night I'm asking him to move out," Laura answered, a hard edge to her voice. "Now, if you wouldn't mind telling Bernice to give me ten minutes then send Ms. Britt in, if she's arrived? I need a little time to myself."

Mildred left the office, file in hand, without another word. Stomping down the hallway, she stopped at Bernice's desk. Taking note of the elegant woman sitting on the couch, she spoke in an undertone.

"Give Mrs. Steele ten minutes then show Ms. Britt in," she relayed the message, then leaned in closer. "Clear out their schedules. It's a go for tomorrow morning. You know what to do." Bernice's eyes widened.

"That bad?" she asked.

"Worse," Mildred replied, then stormed off to her office, closing the door behind her.

Flopping down in her chair, she picked up the handset of the phone and dialed a number.

"It's a go. Tomorrow morning. Is everything ready?" she asked. In his office at the electronics' warehouse, Monroe leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the corner of the desk.

"It is. I need only to make a call."

"Then make the call. We'll make sure to get them where they need to be." Monroe nodded to himself. Mick would have his head for this should it not work, but he didn't intend to sit idly by, not when he'd never seen his friend happier… until these last days.

"I'll make it now," he agreed then hung up the phone.


	30. Chapter 30: Revelation

Chapter 30: Revelation

"Remington Steele to see Dr. Adams," Remington announced at the front desk of Laura's OB/GYN office.

"Is he expecting you?" the receptionist inquired.

"No, he's not. But it's urgent that I speak with him," he replied.

"I'm sorry. Dr. Adam's is booked solid today," the woman informed him, while tapping a series of keys on the computer before her. "I can make you an appointment for next Wednesday at two-thirty," she offered.

 _A week? Nearly a sodding week?_ he muttered silently. It would not do. He needed to know what it was Laura was hiding, _now._ Taking off his sunglasses, he bent over, giving the receptionist his most charming of smiles.

"Miss…"

"Evans. Miss Evans," she babbled, her eyes fastened on his bright blues.

"Miss Evans," he drew out her last name smoothly, "A serious… complication… arose when my wife delivered our son two month's past. I am deeply… deeply… concerned about her health and believe Dr. Adams would free up a bit of time to speak with me. Could you, perhaps, confer with him on the matter? I would be… most… appreciative," he finished with a lift of his brows, and pursing his lips. She blinked, dazedly, several times then nodded.

"I'll… I'll… see what I can do," she stammered. Deciding a bit more incentive was needed, he took her hand, and lifted it towards his lips.

"Thank you," he told her, quite sincerely, then bussed the back of her knuckles. He tried not to smile when the woman blushed to the roots of her hair.

"You're… You're welcome." Eyes still on him, she slowly stood. With a final blink of her eyes, she turned and walked to a closed door than disappeared behind it.

Dr. Adams did agree to meet with him, so long as Remington was willing to wait until an opening in the doctor's schedule. Taking a seat in the waiting room, he whiled away a little more than an hour, thumbing through National Geographic magazines, his eyes often flitting from one pregnant woman to another, as he recalled, wistfully, what a vision Laura had made when rotund with his child. Silently, he said a prayer that whatever Dr. Adams knew might provide the first step towards repairing their marriage.

"Mr. Steele," Ms. Evans called to him, "Dr. Adams can see you now."

He dropped the magazine he was holding on the table beside him, then stood, nervously rubbing a hand over his mouth. It was one thing to seek out answers, quite another not to be scared near to death at what those answers might be… or that there would be none at all. Much to his consternation, he was left to idle away another twenty minutes in the doctor's office. By the time Dr. Adams, entered the room, he was nervously swinging crossed leg and working at the cuticle of his thumb with his teeth. He leaped to his feet and exchanged handshakes with the older man.

"Thank you for seeing me, doctor," Remington greeted. Dr. Adam's nodded briskly, as he released Remington's hand then took a seat behind his desk.

"Of course. I have to admit, Laura's been on my mind quite a bit lately. When you told Ms. Evans you have some concerns…" He allowed the thought to trail off, as he folded clasped hands atop the desk blotter. Remington fished in his pocket and removed the prescription, sliding across the desk towards the doctor.

"I do. Beginning with this," he confirmed. Unfolding the paper, Dr. Adams' face twitched with disappointment.

"So, she never filled it. Given it's Laura we're talking about, I can't say I'm surprised," he commented. "Disappointed," he amended, "But not surprised."

"It," Remington repeated. "What is _it?_ "

"Fluoxetine. A mild dose," Adams explained as though Remington had read that much himself. His frustration grew, and he dragged a troubled hand through his hair.

"Would you mind telling me what it's for? Is she ill?" Adams hesitated, picking up a pen, and fingering it thoughtfully.

"She hasn't spoken to you about her last appointment?" he questioned.

"Only in that she was released to return to work and her iron was a bit on the low side," he replied, sitting up straighter when he saw the doctor's brows draw together. "What? What is it?" Adams stood and walked over to bookcases that lined the wall. Opening a drawer, he rummaged for what he was looking for.

"I never released Laura to return to work," he corrected, his back still to Remington. "In fact, I told her I wouldn't consider releasing her until her next appointment, _if_ I felt comfortable with doing it then. If you don't mind answering some questions for me, before we get to yours, I'd appreciate it. The answers may prove invaluable in assessing where she is, diagnostically speaking." Remington uttered any number of silent oaths, but didn't see where he had much of a choice in the matter.

"If it'll help," he finally agreed.

"When she was here for her appointment, Laura told me she hadn't resumed running, hadn't planned her next triathlon since having the baby. Has that changed?" Remington frowned and unconsciously pursed his lips, trying to recall when Laura had last disappeared for a run before dinner. Slowly, he shook his head.

"As far as I know, she hasn't run since the pregnancy put a stop to it naturally." He searched his memory. "No, no mention of an upcoming triathlon she's excited about." Adams picked up the pen, began fingering it again.

"How's her mood?" Remington couldn't help the rueful chuckle that passed his lips.

"You know how Laura is…" Adams laughter joined his, then the doctor turned serious.

"I do. So, we need to compare what you're seeing now, to her usual state," the doctor explained. "Is her temper shorter, is she more restless, or crying more than is normal for her?"

"I don't know if I can say her temper is shorter," Remington answered cautiously. "She's angrier than I can ever recall her being with me before." He recalled the one time she'd looked at him that morning. _Her eyes had been red_ , he realized now. He'd heard her crying after his disastrous attempt to make love with her. "She's cried a couple times in the last week that I know of, which is certainly outside of the norm for her. She's kept herself busy, very busy, these last weeks." He lifted and dropped a helpless hand. "But that is also not out character for her. She's always putting far too much pressure on herself."

"Is she still sleeping too much, at least for her?" Remington jerked his head back in surprise at the question, the look on his face speaking volumes about how odd the question was. _Laura? Sleeping too much? The very idea is preposterous._ He sobered quickly. But was it, really? How many nights had she turned in earlier than the norm? How many long naps had she indulge in? He pulled his hand through his hair again. _How did I not see it?_

"Far more than usual for her, perhaps by double," he finally answered. His tongue flicked out and wet his lips nervously, finding each question more disturbing than the next.

"The children? How is her relationship with the girls? The baby? Is she withdrawing from them?" Remington shook his head in the negative, immediately.

"No, not at all. She's the same involved, supportive, nurturing mother she's been from the beginning," he defended then added a rueful, "No, I'm the only person she's withdrawn from so far as I know."

"How about her appetite? Is she still losing weight, not eating regularly?" That one left Remington stumped, for as much as he hated to admit i…

"I haven't paid attention, I'm afraid," he apologized.

"And her libido? How has your sex life been? Normal? Above average, below?" To his utter mortification, Remington felt a blush crawling up his face, as he squelched the urge to squirm.

"Non-existent." The three syllables felt like sand on his tongue. The question, however, marked an end to his patience. "Can we please just cut to the chase? Is Laura ill?"

"No, at least not in the manner that you mean," Adams answered. Picking up the brochure he'd pulled out of the bookcase drawer, he leaned across his desk, offering it to Remington. Remington's eyes scanned the title, then looked at the doctor as though he'd lost his mind.

" _Laura?_ You think _Laura_ is _depressed_?" he asked disbelievingly. "Wearing her emotions on her sleeve? Perhaps. Angrier than I've seen her in a long time? Yes. Distant? Yes, that too, at least where I'm concerned. But _depressed_? She's hardly the type. She isn't lying around in bed all day with the covers up over her head, she's—" His words came to a screeching halt when Adams held up a hand to stop him.

"Not depressed in those terms, although I'm concerned we could get there," Adams corrected. " _Postpartum_ depression. The medical community is still not certain why some woman experience it and not others, although we're inclined to believe it's caused by a combination of hormonal changes and environmental and emotional factors. Frankly, using that school of thought, it makes Laura a prime candidate for postpartum depression."

Remington rubbed at the back of his suddenly very sniff neck. He couldn't imagine it himself. Laura was, and always had been, one of the most mentally sound people he'd ever known. Oh, she'd come through life with a considerable number of psychological dings, a lot of fears and insecurities, that was true. But no less than he, and their very life was a testament to her ability to overcome.

Then it hit him.

"The panic attacks," he mumbled aloud. She'd two such attacks he'd borne witness to since they'd married – First when they'd returned from Europe where they'd legally wed, and a second after she'd been rescued from Roselli's clutches. Then a third when he'd been shot, if Christos was a reliable source, and he considered his brother to be exactly that.

"Not exactly, although you're on the right track," Adams responded. "There are people in this world who want control, because it feeds some part of their ego." Picking up his pen again, he tapped it absent-mindedly against the desk blotter. "Then there are people like Laura: Those who _need_ to control their lives, because life has taught them how unpredictable, and often painful, it can be when you rely on others. From what I read not long ago in the papers, you and Laura faced quite a bit of turmoil thanks to our illustrious Deputy Chief of Police shortly before the baby was born. Then when you consider the stressors that can trigger a depressive episode." He shook his head. "She gave birth to her second child in an unfamiliar place with a doctor she didn't care for; she experienced life-alternating complications due to that pregnancy; she took in someone's child, then adopted her; the move to the new house…" He let the thought trail off. "I'd be willing to bet, she feels she's had very little control over any number of things in recent months. That alone could satisfy the theoretical environmental and emotional factors."

"And biological?" Remington wondered.

"As I said before, hormonal changes are suspected," Adams replied. "But there could also be a genetic factor, a theory that's being explored. It's not uncommon to find the parent, grandparent or sibling of the patient has struggled with postpartum depression themselves."

"So, what can be done?" Remington inquired. Adams dropped the pen then stretched across the desk again to return the prescription to Remington.

"Getting this filled and convincing Laura to take it would be a good place to begin." Remington's mordant bark of a laugh had Adams casting him an understanding look and holding up a hand that said no explanations were required.

"I'm afraid that my powers of persuasion where Laura is concerned are currently close to non-existent," he confessed, lifting a hand to gnaw at his thumbnail.

"Try," Adams advised, then added, "If nothing else, try to get her to talk." Remington swallowed hard then nodded as he stood and held out his hand.

"Thank you, doctor."

As he departed the practice's suite, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd even accomplish that.

* * *

Remington sat in his office, feet up on the corner of his desk, brooding. Within five minutes of his arrival at the Agency, Laura had lit out after only a six-word offering:

"Holt went down twenty minutes ago."

No hello, no goodbye, not a flicker of emotion. He couldn't explain why, maybe it was for no other reason than what he'd learned at Adams' office, but the interaction had left him chilled to the bone.

He looked up when he heard a knock at his door. Sitting up quickly, he turned and faced his desk, picking up a pencil to feign that he'd been hard at work making notes on the plans in front of him.

"Come in, come in," he called.

The door swung open and Zach stuck his head in.

"Mr. Steele, do you have a minute?" Remington glanced pointedly at his watch then at the plans before him before his eyes returned to Burton.

"Just. Graham and Warmack need these to begin an installation while Mrs. Steele and I are meeting with a potential client in the morning."

"Bernice told me I just missed Mrs. Steele," Zach offered. "I've been on surveillance all day and didn't have a chance to see how she was doing after that walloping she took last night." Remington made a snap decision: He could either admit he'd no idea what had happened the evening prior or…

"None the worse for wear, Burton," he answered off-handedly as he stood and circled around the desk, then leaning his backside against it, crossed his arms as he looked down at their young associate detective. "Although I'm sure she underplayed what happened. Took quite a hit, did she?"

"More like quite a flight. The way she hit that buffet, I would have sworn she'd broken a rib or two. I even suggested we call an ambulance…" Remington's feigned, wry laugh interrupted the other man.

"Ahh," he began, as he returned to sit at his desk, "You should know by now such a suggestion would run contrary to Mrs. Steele's determination to prove she can take a blow like any man would." Zach laughed in answer.

"Yes, well, I'll try to keep that in mind next time. I'd better go get these notes written up for Mrs. Steele in the morning," he excused himself.

Remington merely nodded at the man, then continued his farce of working until the door closed behind Zach when he departed. Tossing the pencil down, he stood and walked over to the window, where he shoved his hands in his pocket and stared out the window.

First, the postpartum. Now this. _What else is she hiding from me_? he wondered.

And then was left to ponder why the potential answers to that question left him overwhelmed by an inexplicable feeling of dread.


	31. Chapter 31: Fire

Chapter 31: Fire

Laura didn't even bother with pretense at dinner that evening. She busied herself with cutting the girls' food while Remington delivered their own plates to the table. When finished, she sat in her customary position at the table, then shoved her plate away from her.

"Why don't you tell Da what happened at school today, Livvie," she encouraged. Olivia's face lit up.

"Jamie eated a cricket!" she revealed excitedly, her eyes widening in remembrance of her disbelief when it had happened.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwwww," Sophie began.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwwww," Olivia's voice chimed in, as she turned to share a look with her sister. Their descriptor ended in mutual giggles. Out of years of habit, when his lips lifted in a wide smile, his eyes moved to Laura, waited for her to do the same, so they might savor the moment together. The smile faltered when she purposefully averted her face. He swallowed hard, then forced the gaiety back on his face for the sake of the girls.

"Why ever did he do that?"

"'Cuz Billy dared-ed him to!" his little look alike chortled. Laura reached over and stroked a hand over Livvie's hair.

 _It had been good while it had lasted, hadn't it?_ she thought to herself, wistfully. No matter how it had ended, it had once been good. Very good. Unconsciously, she pulled her hand away from Olivia and pressed it against her chest, closing her eyes. _Amazing_ , she silently recognized. Far more than she'd once ever dared to dream of. She'd always have those memories to comfort her. Including this one. She forced her attention back to the girls.

"Now, roasted crickets, are quite tasty but an uncooked one?" he shuddered, his eyes staying on his wife. He'd seen the gesture she'd made, the one that meant she was distressed. He intently watched for any clue of what it was about.

"You ate a cricket?!" Sophie asked with equal parts disgust and amazement.

"Mmmmm. Taste rather like… a crunchy nut, when roasted properly." The girls looked at one another again.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwww," Livvie began.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwww," Sophie chimed in.

"But one not roasted?" he continued as thought they'd never commented. "Much too juicy for my taste, I'm sure."

"Juicy?" Sophie giggled. "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww."

"Ewwwwwwwwwwww," Livvie agreed.

"I'm going to telled Jamie tomorrow that you eated a cricket, too," Livvie announced.

"So long as you make it clear I only eat them cooked," he agreed with a smile. He turned his attention towards his eldest daughter. "And you, Sophie Bird? Any news from the preschool front?"

"I did the most jumps today!" she told him proudly. His eyes flicked to Laura for clarification, but again, she avoided looking at him, turning to Sophie instead.

"How many times did you jump rope without missing, Soph?" Laura asked.

"Miss Moyer said I did thirteen!"

"I only did-ed three," Livvie sighed, resting her elbows on the table then propping chin in her hands to express her dismay.

"I'm sure three is a fine number for a three-year-old, a stór," he soothed, as he reached out to give a strand of hair a fond tug. "Elbows, please." When Olivia dutifully removed her elbows from the table, he turned his attention back to Sophie. "That's quite some accomplishment, a thaisce. You should be very proud of yourself," he praised. She positively beamed at him in return.

So the meal went: the girls sharing their day with him, Laura prompting them when needed… and patently ignoring _him._ And after dinner was over? She virtually dismissed him.

"I'll clean up. You can take the girls outside until I call them for bath."

There was something in her tone, a cool imperiousness reminiscent of the days when she oft spoke to him as though he were an errant school boy. It was with a great deal of effort that he forced himself to recall what Adams had said to him earlier in the day. He scrubbed at his face with a hand for a moment, trying to find the words that might get her to open up.

"Laura, per—"

"Don't," she bit out, turning her head away from him and holding up a hand. "Just, please..." She let the words taper off. For most of the meal she'd battled her careening emotions, for the sake of the girls, if nothing else. She was perilously close to either bursting out in tears or fileting him verbally and now was not the time for either. Feeling utterly helpless at the desperation he saw reflected in her profile, he turned and walked away.

"Girls, let's go outside while Mommy cleans up after the meal, eh?" he called to them.

Bedtime was much of the same: she speaking with the girls, reading to them, singing to them. Then, as he'd said his own goodnights, she'd bolted. A search of their room, the nursery, and the entirety of the downstairs had yielded no sign of her. He drew a hand through his hair in frustration. How was he to speak with her, _to help her_ , when she wouldn't say more than a handful of words to him? He drew in a deep breath, released it slowly, then went back upstairs again. Checking on Holt, who slept soundly, he turned on the baby monitor in the nursery, then upon exiting, cracked the door open, allowing in the smallest sliver of light. In Olivia's room, he disconnected the monitor, moving it to Sophie's room where the girls had chosen to sleep that evening. After a trip back to the master to retrieve both handsets, along with sketchpad and pencil, he fixed himself a scotch, then made himself comfortable on the deck out back.

Taking a sip of his scotch, he set it aside then drew the first broad, confident stroke across the paper. Soon the image of him, peeking around a tree, and the two girls staring up at him in shocked surprise, took shape upon the paper. _It had been a good day, that,_ he reminisced, _Watching Sophie come fully out of her shell, as she had._ If only a day in the park would do as much for Laura. He sighed. No, it would take a great deal of cleverness on his part to draw Laura out and truth be told, he didn't even know how to begin when the woman wouldn't so much as look at him.

He sighed, heavily.

"A drachma for your thoughts," a soft voice offered, interrupting him from his thoughts. A quick smile lit his face. Setting aside his sketchpad, he stood to buss Lina on the cheek.

"Join me?" he invited.

"That depends," she answered lightly, her eyes skittering over his glass of scotch. "Have you a decent glass of wine that we might enjoy?"

"As a matter of fact, I've a '90 William Selyem Allen Pinot Noir chilling that is quite surprising in its complexity. Give me a moment," he requested, with an unconsciously formal nod of his head before he turned and went into the house. Returning shortly, Lina had already positioned herself in the lounge next to his. Handing her the glass of wine, he retook his seat. "You've been keeping busy," he commented.

" _You've_ been keeping me busy," she laughed. "The list of real estate you presented me with is quite lengthy, and scattered all about as it is, I find I am familiarizing myself with California each day." Remington had presented her with a list of nearly three dozen properties that would meet the foundation's needs while serving as potentially profitable real estate ventures for his and Laura's investment portfolios.

"Having any success?" he inquired. She nodded her head, slowly.

"I should have the complete list to you by end of next week," she replied. "There are a few homes that I am particularly drawn to: The three bedroom on Canwood and the Spanish four bedroom in Agoura Hills; the four bedroom on Jordan in Canoga Park; two in Northridge on…" she searched her memory, "…Melvin and Geyser; the house on Rosemary in Eagle Rock; and, the four bedroom on Lyman in Glendora. I don't imagine I'll find another home able to compete with those, but we will see." He scanned his memory for those property listings and was surprised to realize they were all on the lower end of the budget while offering the greatest possible return of their investment.

"I'm impressed," he complimented. "I do believe you've an eye for property."

"The community makes the home," she answered, thoughtfully. "It is what makes Oia so wonderful, the people, not so much the homes. The families who will be living in these houses will have faced trying times. They deserve a home where they will feel safe, where they can envision a better future." He gave his head a mental shake. Was this truly the younger sister whom only a couple years ago seemed concerned only with where she might take her next holiday?

"You seem… invested… in this project of ours," he observed aloud.

"Could I be elsewise?" she challenged. "I've only to look at our Sophie to see the damage domestic abuse can do to a child. If that reason alone doesn't hold enough merit, then I'd like to believe I am following in Mama and Papa's footsteps, giving of myself to make someone else's life a bit better, if I am able." He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"You're turning into a remarkable woman, Lina," he quietly praised.

"I've had excellent examples of who I wish to strive to be surrounding me most of my life," she brushed off, flustered.

"Elena and Marcos are certainly that," he agreed.

"Yourself and Laura, as well," she added. Now, it was his turn to shift uncomfortably under the praise.

"Yes, well, Laura much more so than myself," he dismissed. "Have you come up with a name for this little endeavor of ours?" He and Laura had agreed since Lina and Jocelyn would be running the foundation, the honor of naming it should be theirs.

"Jocelyn and I are partial to Sophia's Safe Haven for the foundation as a whole and Clarissa's Closet for the store," she provided. He contemplated the names, found he liked the choices. _A nod to those who'd been the spark of inspiration for the foundation's creation, as it should be._

"Fine names, the both of them. I believe Laura will feel much the same." Silence lingered between them for a short time. "Lina," he finally spoke, "Are you familiar with something called postpartum depression?" From the corner of her eye, she studied her big brother for a couple heartbeats before answering.

"I am. Helena suffered a bout of it after Farris's birth last summer. Christos was beside himself. She wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the babe. Given how she was with each of the girls," she shrugged a shoulder, "There was never a question something was terribly amiss." He turned his head to look at her.

"And now?"

"Now? Now, she is fine. It took a little time. Her doctor placed her on medication, the family encircled her. We encouraged her to talk to us as much as she wished, or could, while we took responsibility for caring for the children so she wouldn't feel quite so overwhelmed." She took a sip of wine, considered her options. She'd grown concerned the last few weeks or so about her sister-in-law: she was losing too much weight; she'd lost the smile that had been so quick to come; there was a resignation about her that was alarming, a sadness in her eyes that could not be missed. She wasn't as Helena had been – inconsolable – but something was certainly amiss.

"I found a prescription in Laura's wallet this morning," he confessed, "Stopped round her doctor's to find out what it was about. He believes her to have this… postpartum depression." Lina nodded her head, slowly.

"I might understand why it is he's concerned…" Remington's head snapped in her direction and he stared at her.

"Why?" he asked quickly. "Why is that?"

"I don't know if it is my place to say," she answered, cautiously.

"Lina…" he implored. She exhaled heavily.

"Laura… It's not as it was with Helena. Helena was beside herself, could barely function. She seemed to blame Farris for her predicament. With Laura, I thought maybe…" She lifted a shoulder and shook her head. "…but could not be certain. Had I been, Xen, I would have come to you as I did with Sophie."

"Go on, go on," he urged.

"When you first brought Laura to Greece, there was a confidence about her… a fire within her," she began slowly. "According to Papa, he'd seen that fire still burning after that man took her and when you were shot. She might have been frightened or sad, but he knew she'd be fine so long as that fire continued to burn. That fire Papa was talking about, Xen? It is what drew all of us to her. It said she would fight fiercely for what she saw as hers, no matter how large the adversary." She grimaced a little as she recalled how she'd taken Laura to task for not seeing Sophie's struggles, when Laura, herself, had been doing to same, only no one realized.

"What is it?" She gave her head a sharp shake.

"When she returned from the hospital the second time, that flame… had dimmed," she tried to explain.

"Oh, how so?" he asked sitting up.

"It was as though she'd lost some piece of herself." Her brows drew together, and she exhaled heavily. "I believed then it was only that she was recovering from surgery. Now, I know I was wrong. She's tired, Xen."

"Tired," he rubbed the back of his neck again. "Yes, the doctor had mentioned something to that extent. I hadn't realized her naps—"

"That's not what I mean," she cut him off, sitting up to face him. "I mean tired here, Xen." She pressed crossed hands to her chest. "She has resigned herself to her fate, whatever that might be. She no longer fights." Fired up herself now, she took to her feet. "A person, no matter how strong their shoulders, will eventually be unable to carry the load they are asked to carry if others simply continue to pile the stones on. Truth be told, I blame myself, in part," she confessed.

"Why ever would you do that?" he asked, shocked.

"It was not only yourself I spoke to about Sophia's difficulties. I added my own stone to that load she is bearing." He stood and embraced his younger sister.

"You can't blame yourself, Lina. Your concern for Sophia was commendable," he assured.

"It is not only myself I hold to task, Xen," she announced, as she withdrew from his embrace, and sat on the end of the chaise. "I neither pretend to know what this… chill… between you and Laura is, nor will I ask. But, I will tell you this, big brother," she scolded as she took to her feet again, "Whatever its cause, it is the final stone too many and you must relieve her of it, because she can't do it for herself right now."

With those final words, she bussed him on the cheek then walked towards her little home, never looking back.

He had no idea how long he'd walked the deck from corner-to-corner-to-corner-to-corner, how many times he'd passed that very spot, as he sipped on his wine, dwelled on everything he'd been told that day, how things had fallen apart over the last weeks, but out of the corner of his eye, this time, he saw the slightest movement of a shadow below. Walking to the railing, he peered over…

And his heart sputtered to a stop.

Setting down his wine glass on the railing, he strode to the gate that blocked the house from the staircase leading to the beach below. Despite his aversion to unnecessarily taxing inclines and declines, he traversed the steps quickly until his toes touched the sand. A scant couple of seconds later, he lowered himself to sit behind her. He lifted his hand, then dropped it, then on second thought lifted it again and rubbed her back, offering her what comfort he might.

"Laura…" he spoke her name in a gravelly voice. Her body stiffened beneath his hand, and she raised her head to look at him. He was surprised to find her face free of tears, certain she'd been down here having a real go at it. His relief was short-lived, for her face contorted as though she were in great pain, before she dropped her head back into her arms again. "Laura, come here…" His hand clutched her waist, and he drew her near until her head was resting against his chest.

She neither resisted him nor went wholly willingly.

She tried to prepare herself, but nonetheless her senses reeled at his nearness. Her hand clenched a handful of his shirt, as though she was drowning and he was the only thing that might save her.

That was the problem, the logical side of her acknowledged, not for the first time in the years they'd been together: What did you do when the best friend you needed to turn to was the very person breaking your heart? She wanted to melt against his body, to allow his warmth to chase away the chill. She wanted to lose herself in his smell, the very smell that had been her comfort for so long. She wanted to turn into his embrace, to feel his arms wrap around her, keeping her close, as he promised all would be okay.

He was her comfort and her torment, all wrapped up into one.

"Don't," she gasped, wrenching herself away from him and shoving herself to her feet. "Just… don't."

He could only watch as Laura did something that was contrary to her nature as it was for her to ignore a good mystery:

She fled.

Up the stairs, across the desk, through the house, then up yet another flight of stairs. She'd just turned for their room, when she heard Sophie's soft sobs. Automatically, she turned toward the sound. As she walked through the doorway, her eyes flitted to Livvie who was still sleeping soundly. Quietly she slipped into bed next to Sophie and drew her daughter into her arms.

"It's okay, Soph. I'm here. I'll never leave you, no matter what. It's okay," she soothed, as she rubbed the little girl's back and rested her face against the her hair. I'll stay here with you tonight, what do you think, huh?" Sophie nodded her head, and she nuzzled closer to Laura.

It was, to Laura, the perfect reprieve. She could sleep here tonight, with their young, frightened daughter and it would require no explanation tomorrow.

Then, tomorrow night, she could begin relearning how to sleep alone.


	32. Chapter 32: Nathaniel Thatcher

Chapter 32: Nathaniel Thatcher

Remington passed a hand over cheeks, chin then neck, giving approval to the close shave. Rinsing off his face, he reached for a face towel and dried it off as he reviewed what he and Laura knew about the potential client they would be seeing that morning. A referral from Monroe and Jocelyn, Nathaniel Thatcher was an eccentric multi-millionaire, whom owned an impressive portfolio of fast-food franchises. In wake of the increase of robberies of such establishments throughout LA, Thatcher was interested in hiring the Agency to install security systems in the stores lacking them and upgrading systems in stores where one already existed. Not a fancy job, by any means, but a lucrative one, which is why Bernice had agreed to the man's rather bizarre terms for this meeting.

Thus, now both he and Laura were making their preparations. He would drop the girls at school while she stopped by the Agency, reviewed the Britt case with Burton and Celek, and left Holt in the more than capable hands of Mildred, Bernice and Marvin. Once their individual duties had been dispatched, they would meet at the Santa Monica Airport where they'd board the man's private plane.

A shut in. He shook his head, never having understood how anyone's mind could hold them prisoner within a building. A building! For pity's sake, all a man had to do was open a door and step out. How difficult could it possibly be?

And how exactly does a shut-in end up a fast food mogul?

The answer to that was as baffling as their agreeing to hop on board the man's Maule M-7 and flying God only knew where. He said a small prayer that they weren't flying straight into an ambush dreamt up by any number of people they'd helped to put behind bars.

He fingered the bottle of antidepressants sitting on the counter. The only upside to this little excursion is that he and Laura would be forced into very close confines – and a place from which she couldn't possibly escape. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of cornering her, but it seemed he was running out of options, as it was. She'd even gone so far as to sleep with Sophie the night prior, all to avoid him, he knew. Picking up the bottle of pills then scooping up abandoned pajamas and briefs from the floor, he tossed the bottle on the bed then stepped into the closet to select his suit du jour.

A frown immediately crossed his face when he saw his shirt lying on the floor. Absently, he opened the hamper and dropped the soiled laundry in his arms into it, before bending over and picking up the shirt. It wasn't like him to be so… slovenly. Sure, a bit of clothing tossed here and there during lovemaking was perfectly acceptable, but elsewise clothing not worn was put where it belonged, be it in closet, drawer or hamper. And he clearly recalled putting the shirt in the hamper with his other clothing the night before last. With a shake of his head, he stepped to the hamper again, then stopped.

 _Bloody hell_ , he silently bemoaned, when his eyes lit upon the red-tinted outline of a lip upon the shirt's collar. Memory and understanding collided. The basket had been nearly full when he'd put his clothes in it, and now stood nearly empty. The only logical explanation for what he found was the obvious one: Laura had emptied the hamper and found the shirt…

Then assumed the worst of him.

Not for the first time in their association, Remington damned Felicia for her foolish, jealousy fueled games. He'd not a single doubt the lipstick had come to be on his collar quite intentionally. Felicia's way of asserting her territory, although that territory had been irrevocably claimed by another long before.

What Felicia didn't realize was she'd taken her game a step too far, this time. He would have kept her presence in Los Angeles secret, for Laura's sake. Now, he was left with no choice but to come clean to Laura to dispel whatever it was she'd come up with in that very active imagination of hers.

For he had a sinking feeling he already know exactly what it was she believed.

* * *

"Laura, we need—" Remington tried again, for the third time in the fifty minutes they'd been in flight. Laura pressed herself even closer to the door while drawing her crossed arms tighter against her chest.

"There are many things I need to do," she interrupted, coolly. "For instance, I _need_ to have the girls at the dance school this evening, so they can be outfitted for the recital next month. I _need_ to remember the girls have a birthday party to attend Saturday at eleven. I _need_ to recall that I have never taken a skydiving class, which, incidentally, is the only reason jumping out of this plane is a vaguely less appealing option than having to say _again_ , I am not having this discussion here."

"Why is it you presume to know what it is I wish to discuss?" he argued in answer. "You've not let me complete a sentence yet, so for all you know, I may wish to prepare for the meeting ahead." Arms still crossed, she looked over her shoulder at him with suspicious eyes. But if that was what he really wanted to talk about… well, business was business.

"Do you?" He crossed his arms, mimicking her, and scowled at her. Her interest in conversation now irked him, feeling like he'd been thrust back into those days of 'business is business… personal is personal, and never should the twain meet.' He pursed his lips.

"Well, no, but—" She turned away from him.

"Which brings us back to the original topic," she bit out. "I need you to try to remember that we're here on business and to leave the personal out of it."

His mouth snapped shut at the insult of it all. Turning his back to her, he stared out the window, silently.

* * *

Laura stopped and rested her hands on her hips, looking around, as they stepped off the dock and onto the beach.

"Isn't this—"

"It is," Remington answered. "Well, I suppose it explains Monroe and Jocelyn's referral."

"Huh. I always assumed it belonged to an agent or maybe a world-renowned photographer," she commented. "How exactly do a model and restaurant mogul end up on friendly enough terms that he'd routinely allow her and her friends to stay here?"

"I've no idea," he admitted, then held out an arm. "Shall we?"

His eyes followed her as she strode towards the house in those long-legged strides of hers that, when he allowed him the pleasure of stopping to admire, ever failed to leave a pang of longing deep in his belly. Thus, his thoughts were so encumbered, when she stopped at the front door to brush a few imaginary wrinkles from her suit. When she turned to him out of habit, swiping a piece of lint from his sleeve, then smoothed her hands over his shoulders and arms. That pang grew in his belly grew into a deep, yawing need, her voluntary touch swamping him with emotion. He knew he wore his heart on his sleeve when she looked up at him and…

Froze…

Then jerked away, infuriated with herself. She stabbed at the doorbell with her finger. _The sooner we get this interview over with, the sooner we can conclude this day,_ she reminded herself. She frowned as the door remained unanswered, depressed the button again, to no avail. Reaching around her, he tested the doorknob, then turning it, pushed the door open.

"If you ask me, he's taking this recluse thing a bit over the top," he muttered, as he followed her into the house.

"Mr. Thatcher?" she called.

Their calls went unanswered, as they checked the cozy lower half of the home. Living room and bathroom failed to yield the potential client. Remington checked the kitchen while Laura surveyed the one room second floor. When she came back downstairs, she threw her arms up in the air.

"I don't understand. Why have a plane fly us all the way out here if he was going somewhere?" she questioned, frustrated. She tilted her head, regarded him with curiosity, when he crossed the room and peeked out the blinds. "What _are_ you _doing_?'

"Did Mrs. Wolfe mention to you anything along the lines of the plane leaving then returning to pick us up at a later time?" She looked at him as though he'd grown a third head.

"Of course not! Why—" Her eyes widened and she rushed for the front door, listened to the hum of the plane's engine as it flew overhead.

"It's creepy, Laura. Just plain creepy. I keep waiting for DesCoine to come flying over the horizon in his plane, bearing straight down on us. And us without so much as a cornfield to take cover in."

"Cornfi— _What?!_ "

" _North by Northwest._ The crop duster?" he hinted, giving her a look of incredulity. "Really, Laura, we've already re-enacted that particular scene while chasing _pigs_ in Iowa," he reprimanded, waving a hand towards her.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing a finger at the envelope in said waving hand. Her eyes shifted to his other hand. "And that?" He looked at his right hand.

"I'd think you'd recognize a mobile phone when you see one, Laura. It wasn't so long ago that we spoke night—"

"I _know_ what a mobile phone is!" she growled. "So, call Bernice already and find out what's going on!"

"Already tried," he answered, as he moved to another window, and peeking out the drapes, looked skyward. "Can't make a call out."

"And the envelope?" she pressed when he fell silent. He looked at her then back out the window.

"Oh, that? Clearly it's a note," he dismissed.

"For us?" He looked at her as though she'd gone daft.

"Know of anyone else on this deserted island?" he questioned. "I would say it's safe to say it's for us."

"Well, what does it say?" she demanded to know. He gave her another queer look.

"I've no idea. I'd much rather the end be a surprise then to know exactly how it's coming, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, for God's sake," she growled in frustration, then marched across the room and snatched the letter from his hand. "No, I'd much rather be told what's coming so I can find a solution, rather than being blindsided," she retorted, her answer holding double meaning.

She ripped the paper out of the envelope and quickly opened it. All color drained from her face as she scanned that letter's contents.

"This is _your fault_ ," she accused, slapping the letter against his chest, then storming out, while muttering, "She better hope I don't get my hands on her anytime soon because…"

With no little dread, he peeled the paper away from his chest, and wondered what exactly it was that Felicia had done, _how_ she'd even known of this place. Had his last rejection of her been one too many, and she'd arranged for O'Shaunnessy to pop by to collect on what the deranged man saw as a debt? Or had merely detonating his marriage been a sufficient enough attention-getter for her?

He licked his lips nervously and forced his eyes to the piece of paper.

 _Mr. and Mrs. Steele –_

Well, that eliminated Felicia as author of the letter, he deduced. After all, had the letter been her handiwork, it would have been addressed to Michael and Lisa.

 _It's high time someone locked you in a room together and made you duke it out. The plane will return for you on Tuesday morning. Your schedules have been cleared until then. The pilot was instructed to leave behind your luggage. The pantry and refrigerator are fully stocked, including a couple of bottles of nice wine, I'm told._

 _Don't worry about the ki's. Melina has cleared her schedule to stay with them, and she'll have all the help she needs. They're in good hands here._

 _Don't bother trying to use the phone to call out, it's been programmed to only receive incoming calls. The girls will call each night before bedtime and in the morning when they get up._

 _Now, get fighting, already. You only have four days to fix whatever it is that's broke._

 _Mildred_

The hand holding the letter dropped to his side, and he stood there, stunned. Mildred and... who?... had _kidnapped_ them?

* * *

Mildred stepped out of her office and into the reception area of the Agency. Cocking a hip on the side of the reception desk, she crossed her arms and gave one of her co-conspirators a rueful look.

"Well, hon, I imagine they know what's happened by now," Mildred speculate. "We better hope this works, because if not, you and me? We're gonna be outta jobs." Bernice leaned forward, and bracing an arm against the desk with her elbow, she plopped her chin into her hand and looked up at Mildred with a similar look.

"Don't I know it."


	33. Chapter 33: Promises Broken

Chapter 33: Promises Broken

Remington stood at the start of the dock, hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes were on Laura where she sat at the end of the dock, chin rested on bended knees, as she fingered her engagement ring and wedding band. The entire scene was a bit of déjà vu in the making, for he'd found her exactly where she was sitting now, exactly how she was sitting now, doing exactly as she was doing now, when last they'd visited this tiny, secluded island. He remembered every word they'd uttered to one another that day, as though it had only been yesterday.

* * *

" _ **What has that magnificent mind of yours at work so early this morning?"**_

" _ **You."**_

" _ **I'm not sure if I should be flattered or alarmed about that."**_

* * *

Then, his comment had been in half jest - half. She'd had a habit, early on in their marriage, of fingering her rings whenever she thought about them, their marriage, what had brought them to where they were, what forces might try to tear them apart. While her periodic bouts of silence, of retreat, were at times alarming, they were never so much as they were now, when he could _feel_ the gossamer threads of what they'd had rapidly snapping, unraveling.

* * *

" _ **I didn't want this."**_

" _ **Didn't want what, Laura?"**_

" _ **Do I have to spell it out? This! I didn't want to love you this much. I didn't want to be as happy as I am with you. I didn't want to… to… to… treasure this life we're making as much as I do. I didn't want to want… no, need you as much as I do. A part of me knew that this would happen if I let my guard down, let you in…"**_

" _ **Knew what?"**_

" _ **I told you in Vail. This is not like my father or Wilson. My father was just my father. I loved Wilson, but he was just a boyfriend, nothing more. You? You're tucked into every area of my life. You are my partner at work, my best friend outside of it. My lover. My husband. We share a business, a home. If you go, you take everything. No partner to chase mysteries with. No friend to turn to. No lover to lost myself in. No husband to dream of the future with."**_

* * *

The words had been spoken with a great deal of angst on her part, but in them he'd found a measure of comfort. To know how deeply his presence was woven into her life. Well, it would make it that much more difficult for her to send him on his way when next he stumbled… or failed her.

The latter of which he could admit to himself he'd clearly done these last months, failed her. He'd been so miffed by her refusal to even so much as consider walking away from the investigative arm of the Agency, that he'd turned a cold shoulder to her. Caught up in his outrage, he'd missed the signs that she was mightily struggling. The question now was: precisely what all had he missed?

He didn't know, which was enough to make a shiver of dread pass through his lean frame.

What he did know was that he wanted desperately to hear the last words she'd spoken to him on this dock that day so long ago:

* * *

 _ **"I never wanted this, but I'll never let it go of it now."**_

* * *

He pulled a hand from his pocket and dragged it through his hair.

Well, he might be unable to discover the answer of what all he'd missed until she spoke to him – or he provoked her into doing so, as the case may be – but there was one concern to which he _could_ attend. Stepping onto the dock, he retrieved their bags from where the pilot had let them, the turned and retreated into the house. It was time to see what the kitchen might give up in the way of food.

At the end of the dock, Laura let out a long, slow breath. She'd felt Remington's eyes upon her as surely as she felt the heat of the sun warming the fabric of her suit. She'd waited. Had known he'd come to her. Had dreaded his touch, his nearness. Then, to her infinite disgust, felt a pang of longing for him so deeply that she questioned, briefly, if it came from her very soul.

She shook the feeling off. It didn't matter what she wanted, only what was.

 _What were you thinking, Mildred?_! she silently ranted. Of all the people to do this to them… to _her_ … that it had been Mildred? The thought earned another shake of her head. She knew. _Mildred knew_ about Felicia, about his affair. How could she even begin to believe stranding them on this island together, suggesting they 'duke it out', was any kind of solution at all?

There was, after all, only one solution.

She'd put up a lot from her Mr. Steele over the years. The plots, the ploys, the scams, the gambits. Felicia, Daniel, Anna, Shannon and Clarissa. Mexico City… and Cannes. She'd tolerated, in the early days, him going missing for days at a time, then, in later years, disappearing midday, despite the fact there was work to be done. She'd accepted his allergy to legwork would always be a part of him, just as she'd embraced his need to travel a few times a year to relieve the 'itch' that would develop after he'd been in one place for too long.

But what she couldn't overlook, couldn't tolerate, couldn't accept and would never be able to was that he'd looked at her, had found her wanting, and had turned to another woman. Lies, secrets, infidelity, each of them striking at the very core of trust it had taken them years to build, to have faith in.

* * *

" _ **Are you saying that you're only mine, from here forward?"**_

" _ **I have been for a long, long time, Laura, and that is not ever going to change."**_

* * *

The memory from the day they'd spent on Marcos's boat before they married came out of nowhere, blindsiding her. Even now she could recall every detail of that day. How they'd frolicked in the Aegean. The feel of his arm skin beneath her hands. The taste of him, tinged with the flavor of salt from the water surrounding them. The plea in his voice as he asked that she promise she was his, and his alone, from that day forward.

She blinked her eyes rapidly, as she realized it had just been another lie. Those memories, his promises, in the wake of his infidelity, all lay in tatters at her feet.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, she slowly removed the engagement and wedding rings from where they had resided on her left hand for almost five years. She turned the wedding band around between her fingers until she could see the inscription: _Agapi mou, Zoi mou._

* * *

" _ **I know the expression is 'It's Greek to me,' but I think this really**_ _ **is**_ _ **Greek. What does it mean?"**_

" _ **Roughly translated? 'My love, my life.' I do love you, Laura. Even more than you may ever realize, I think. The words may never come easily to me, but it doesn't mean I don't feel them. Perhaps the ring can serve as a reminder of that, when I can't say it myself."**_

* * *

She clenched the rings in her hand, pressing the closed fist to her chest as the first, choking sob wracked her body.

Remington stilled where he stood at the kitchen counter, having just made Laura's favorite sandwich – turkey and Havarti on whole grain - in the hopes of tempting her appetite. The knife dropped from his hand, clanging against the counter. While he'd wrongly believed her to be sitting on the beach crying the evening before, the way her still folded body was alternately jerking and drawing up left no doubt that she was crying in a manner he hadn't seen her do since the day she'd told him of her mistreatment at Roselli's hands.

And he was no more immune to her pain now than he had been then. Ripping off the apron he'd put on to protect his new shirt, he tossed it on the counter next to their plates, then strode purposefully out of the house and down the dock, the words he'd said to her that day in Greece repeating in his head.

Laura heard his footfalls on the wood. Knuckling away her tears, she drew in a long, deep breath, hoping it would sustain her through what she had to say, what it was _time_ to say. Before he reached the end of the dock, she was on her feet, her fisted hand held against her stomach. She drew on every ounce of her will to straighten her back, square her shoulders, tip up her chin and narrow the eyes focused him as he approached.

"Laura, we need—" he began.

"When we get home from this… nightmare," she cut in before he could finish what he'd begun to say, "We're moving back to Holmby Hills." He looked at her, perplexed, but was willing to agree to whatever it was she wanted if it might help.

"If that's what you want, I'll call—"

"The children and I," she interrupted again. "The children and I are moving back to Holmby Hills, is what is what I meant to say. Alone. The children and I alone." His skin blanched as the realization of what she was saying crept in.

"You can't mean…" he sputtered. "Surely you don't—" She lifted reddened puffy eyes that still glimmered with unshed tears and looked up at him, as she took his hand in hers. Pressing her rings into his palm, she closed his fingers over top of them.

"Yet, somehow I do."

With those final four words, she stepped away from him and walked down the dock to the house, repeating over and over, silently, to herself. _Don't look back. Don't look back._

Incredulous eyes followed her journey, the weight of her words nearly staggering him. He had no need to open his hand to know what he'd find there. For too many years his thumb had caressed them where they lay against her skin, the pair of them a testament to the life they'd fought to have together.

 _And she would give it up, so easily?_

Was it because of the parallel he'd already drawn in his mind between her tears and those days after Roselli had taken her that the memory of what he'd said to her that day, standing on the terrace that overlooked the Aegean, come so readily to mind?

* * *

 _ **"It sometimes seems I've waited my entire life for you, for what we have. I'll not let it go so easily. Do you understand?"**_

* * *

He couldn't say… didn't even bother to question of the why of it at all.

Whatever the reason, that she would so easily walk away pricked his temper. Yes, he'd failed her. Inadvertent though it may have been, he had failed her. But at what cost? Their marriage? The stability of a two-parent household for their children? Their sodding life as a family?

With long-legged strides, he stormed towards the house. Shoving it open, he slammed it shut behind him with the resounding crash of door meeting frame.

In the doorway to the bathroom, Laura jumped, her eyes widened. Only on the rarest of occasions had she seen her husband's temper on full display, and it always left her shaken, off-balance in those times she had. True, it wasn't uncommon for the man to become a bit snarlish every now and then. But to truly lose his temper? It was so at odds with his normally sanguine nature that she'd always wondered if this was the angry boy Daniel had pulled from the streets. She could feel his fury bouncing off the walls around them, as though it were a living entity.

And in each instance when she had witnessed his raw fury, it was because somewhere within he believed what mattered most to him was being threatened.

He advanced across the room in her direction, reminding her every bit of a panther prepared to defend its territory.

"If you think I'm going to stand by while you end our marriage because of whatever it is you've cooked up in that wild imagination of yours… Well, you've bloody well lost your sodding mind, woman!"


	34. Chapter 34: A Sound Dunking

Chapter 34: A Sound… Dunking?

Laura's jaw fell open, her lips parted and she stared at him in disbelief for two blinks of an eye. Then, her own temper ignited. Her chin tipped upwards. Her arms crossed. She straightened to her full height. Her eyes narrowed.

" _I've_ lost _my_ mind _?_ " she asked incredulously. " _I'm_ not the one with secrets. _I'm_ not the one lying. _I'm_ not—"

"Yes. Yes. Yes, you are," he accused wagging his finger at her face. She bridled at the accusation.

"Oh, and how am I doing that?" she challenged, knowing damned well she'd been nothing less than honest with—

"Where would you like to start?" he shouted. "Should we begin with the status of your work return, according to Dr. Adams? Or, perhaps here?" Reaching into his pocket, he dropped in her rings and pulled out the bottle of pills and tossed them intentionally high. The former baseball player's instincts kicked in and she snatched them out of the air. Then gasped, at the sharp pain that shot through her side. "Or maybe, just maybe we should begin with whatever it is that happened to you the other night." She threw her hands up in the air, winced, then waved him off, moving towards the front door. Those things were inconsequential compared to the things he'd done. She told him as much.

"Inconsequential compared to what you've done," she dismissed, yanking open the door and walking out. He followed in pursuit.

"Inconsequential? _Inconsequential_?" he repeated. Having reached her side, he grabbed the bottle from her hand and held it up. "Near as I can tell, the reason for these is at the heart of it all." She wrenched the bottle from his hand, and stepped ahead of him on the dock, holding the bottle up.

" _These_ are nothing more than Dr. Adams overreacting," she shot back. He darted around her, then turned to face her, walking backwards.

"Is he? Overreacting?" he rebutted. "You're not eating, sleeping far more than normal, you've cried more in the last two months than I've seen you cry in near on a decade. You've held me at arm's length since the babe was born—"

"That has nothing to do with my being depressed, or whatever it is Adams thinks I am, and everything to do with _you_!" Her voice pitched high on the accusation, the last word was drawn out long.

"Why? Why?" he held out a hand, trying to stop her in her path. With a huff, she circled around him and continued her march. "What exactly is it I've done that merits ending our marriage?" he demanded to know. "Is it Castoro? Do you blame me for him barreling into our lives? For the consequences of his having done so?" She shoved past him. "For wanting you to place our family before the Agency?" He worked his way around in front of her again. She remained stalwartly silent. "What? What is it then?" he pursued. Cut off one too many times, with a litany of demands and accusations aimed at her, her temper erupted. She let out a loud growl of frustration.

"Oh, why don't you go ask Felicia?" she shouted, then, surprising even herself, planted both palms against his chest and shoved him out of her way.

Standing already at the end of the dock, he lost his balance, his arms flailed, and he pitched into the water behind him. Her eyes widened in shock, then, with a smirk of satisfaction, she spun on her heel, and walked briskly down the dock and away from him.

Sputtering as he came up, he shook his head, then smoothed back his hair with a hand, prepared to continue the argument, even from the undignified position in which he suddenly found himself. A glance at the dock told him the point was moot, as there was no sign of his temperamental wife. A few strokes of his long arms returned him to the dock, and he hoisted himself out of the water with considerable effort. From his knees, he watched as Laura walked down the beach, away from the house.

"This conversation is far from over, Miss Holt," he bellowed at her receding form. To his annoyance, she merely flipped a dismissive hand in his direction, never slowing down her gait.

Muttering a string of oaths under his breath about hard-headed women, he walked towards the house leaving a trail of wetness in his wake.

* * *

Laura stalked down the beach until she figured she was a significant enough distance away from the house to deter the bellicose Mr. Steele from further pursuit. Stomping slightly inland to where a knoll of trees would offer some shade against the midday sun, she ripped off her suit jacket and tossed it unceremoniously to the ground. Her pumps landed on top of the jacket, before she peeled off her stockings and they joined the pile.

"Of all the audacity," she muttered aloud, as she plopped down in the sand, facing the water.

 _He_ was trying to blame _her_? The lying dog. The philanderer.

He went to _see_ Dr. Adams? Without telling her?

She wasn't sure which made her angrier: That Remington had gone to her doctor behind her back or that Adams had clearly filled her husband's head full of drivel.

 _She_ was _not_ the problem!

It was him. _It was him_! _He_ was the one that had pulled away from her, the second Dr. Adams had announced she'd never have another child. _He_ was the one who'd changed the rules of the game, demanding that they shut down the investigative arm to the Agency. _He_ was the one who'd bailed on their partnership, leaving her hanging out to dry. _He_ was the one that could only take her to bed after he had a few drinks under his belt.

 _He_ was the one having an affair, for crying out loud! And with Felicia of all people!

But he was pointing the finger at _her_?!

"Not a chance, _Mr. Steele_ ," she vowed out loud.

Her trespasses were miniscule compared to his own. So, she hadn't told him about Adams's ridiculous ideas. If they'd held _any_ merit, she might have. To have Remington hovering over some misguided notion that she was depressed? _Oh, ho. No, thank you,_ she thought to herself. So, she'd… fibbed... about being cleared to return to work. Telling him the truth would have only invited an argument, which she'd have won in the end, anyway, because one way or the other she was going back to work. As for what had occurred at the Hawthorne's? Well, the instant the man had abandoned their partnership he'd given up any right to information about a case she was working, as far as she was concerned.

And to accuse her of putting the Agency before their family? What was she doing if not putting their family first? Did she not leave work each day at two-thirty to pick up the girls then stay with them while Sophie acclimated to Mirabella? Had she not been leaving early twice a week for _months_ , to take Livvie, and now Sophie as well, to dance? Hadn't she been home for dinner, bath and bedtime routines, even if it mean returning to work after the children were asleep?

No, she hadn't put the Agency before their family.

She also hadn't caved in to his demands that they shut down the investigative side of the business. _That_ was what he was really angry about. What was truly absurd about _that_ was it was she who had the right to be angry! Not him! Hadn't he promised he would never try to change her, to consume her?

She alternated between sitting and stewing in the shade and pacing and prowling along the beach, idling away nearly five hours before need of the restroom and a drink of water chased her back to the house.

* * *

After returning to the house, Remington dug through the luggage left by the pilot. Finding a pair khaki's and a polo which would suffice, he showered and changed, hanging his likely ruined clothing over the railing outside to dry. The sandwiches he'd made earlier were stowed in the refrigerator.

 _Now, what?_

The cozy, isolated home didn't exactly offer a wealth of entertainment options. There was an old turn table and a rather eclectic collection of albums, but not a television to be found. There was a large variety of paperback novels stashed on the book shelves, but not a single magazine, travel or otherwise. There were a couple of board games on those same shelves but not the first playing card. With a shrug of a shoulder, he dropped _Songs by Sinatra_ on the turntable, then selected Raymond Chandler's _The Lady in the Lake_ from the bookshelves. _The Big Sleep_ it might not be, but he figured a little Marlowe of any kind wasn't such a bad way to while away the time.

One-hundred-seventy-seven pages – and, he didn't wish to know, how many hours later - he dog-eared a page, then set the book down on the coffee table. It was a fairly decent tale so far, two missing wives, one might be dead, the other on the run. Yes, it would pass muster as rainy day fare. But it wasn't a rainy day, and he was having difficulty getting his own wife off his mind.

 _Why don't you ask Felicia?_

For the countless time since the words were spoken, they rumbled through his head… followed by a hearty round of heartfelt oaths surrounding Felicia and a lengthy stay in purgatory.

He damned well knew he hadn't been followed anywhere these past two days, which meant Laura had seen Felicia outside of Century Towers, with him, as he'd feared she might. As Felicia had hoped she might. That, coupled with the shirt, and, of course, Laura had come to the conclusion he was having an affair.

He didn't know whose neck he wished to ring more; his frustrating wife's or his scheming ex-lover's.

In the kitchen, he busied himself with tossing the uneaten sandwiches into the garbage, then dicing the chicken he'd laid out to defrost earlier, and dropping the cubes of meat into a pan to brown them. Chicken Alfredo. Another of Laura's favorites, and hopefully a meal that would tempt her palate this evening.

When would Felicia learn that her jealousy was inevitably her downfall? If he'd been unwilling to allow Laura to believe he and Felicia were lovers nine years ago, why would the woman imagine he'd allow it now?

And now, he had no choice but to tell Laura the entirety of it. If his marriage was to crumble, it would be because of the truth, not over a fallacy.

As for his wife? Would she _ever_ trust him fully? He'd been faithful to her for years before they'd married, by his own choice. If she couldn't believe that there was no one for him but her, then shouldn't she ask: Now that he had all he'd ever dreamed of, why would he risk throwing it all away on a sleazy affair? She could bandy about whatever flippant phrases about sex that she wished or preach endlessly about liberated women no longer be held to archaic double standards when it came to sexual freedom, but at end of the day Laura Holt not only believed in, but required, those minor little things called commitment and fidelity. He'd never even bothered to question what would happen if he traipsed outside the bounds of monogamy: she toss him out on his arse and not look back.

But he'd never been concerned with the consequences, because the simple fact was only one woman had been the star of his fantasies for nearly a decade, and that would never change.

 _Yet, here I am, tried and convicted… again_.

Chicken done, he sat a pot of water onto a burner to boil, then turned his focus to preparing the sauce.

He fought back his threatening temper. He was damned well sick and tired of finally believing he'd earned her trust, once and for all, only to have the carpet swept from beneath his feet. But that path of thinking would do no good at the moment. Recriminations could come later, but the task before him now was how to convince Laura that she'd added two and two together only to come up with eight.

And the first step to doing that was to get her talking. He rehearsed a dozen different ways he might approach her when she came back, each having the potential to leave her chafing and taking flight again. So, when the door swung open and Laura, stepped inside, he simply informed her…

"I am _not_ having an affair with Felicia," he announced in as casual a tone he could muster, then thought to add, "Or anyone else for that matter." He looked up at her through his lashes, his concentration seemingly fully on the food he was serving onto plates. Still, he watched as she bridled, straightening her back and crossing her arms at his claim to innocence.

"Ha!' she spat out, taking a couple more steps towards the stairs.

"I am, however, being blackmailed by her." Said in the same easy tone, he said a silent prayer she'd take the bait. It was one thing, after all, for Laura to be prepared to feed him to the wolves, but quite another when someone else intended to do the feeding. It wasn't the perfect plan, by any means, but if her natural curiosity, territoriality, opened up conversation, it would suffice.

She crossed her arms and stared at him, searching what she could see of his face for veracity. Found it there. _Damn it,_ she protested silently. What did Felicia have on him this time? His past. Something out of his damnable past, no doubt. A past that could threaten their family, the Agency. She mentally groaned. His father and Catherine even. Not to mention put him behind bars or six feet under. _Damn_ _it!_ She wanted a divorce, not for her children to lose their father, for him to come to some harm. _Damn, damn, damn, damn._

"Oh?" she reluctantly inquired, then waited… and waited… and waited… yet he offered not another word. "Mr. Steele, _what_ does she have on you?" He shook his head.

" _After_ we've eaten," he refused as he walked into the living room and sat their plates on the coffee table. He returned to the kitchen to start the coffee maker and pour them two glasses of water. Taking his seat on the couch, he picked up his fork and took a bite of his dinner, prepared to wait her out as long as necessary.

 _Damn._ She huffed and stomped across the room, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch from him. The man could be as stubborn as she when he wished, and he'd just drawn his line.

They ate the meal in silence. True, she spent the bulk of the time repositioning her food on her plate, moving it here, then there, but by the time he'd cleaned his plate, his observant eyes calculated she'd eaten a third of her portion. It was a starting point, at least. After he'd washed the dishes, leaving them in a rack to dry, then returned to the couch with a cup of coffee for each of them.

"So, what does she have on you this time?" she asked, unconcerned with the snooty tone in which she spoke.

"Not a what, so much as a who: Edward O'Shaunnessy," he replied succinctly, "Better known…" he eyed her warily from beneath his lashes "In certain… circles… as the Dublin Crusher." Her lips tightened, but to her credit, she remained where she was.

"Go on."

"Fifteen years ago, or thereabouts, I was informed of a rather… healthy… recovery fee. A rare artifact had been stolen by one of O'Shaunnessy's men. The legitimate owners of that piece, not to mention their insurance company, wanted it back."

"Let me guess," she stepped in, fingering her throat, "You stole it."

"Recovered," he emphasized with a tsk of his tongue. "I was young, just starting out in this particular… specialty. Pockets full of blunt, high on the adrenaline, and, admittedly, a bit too full of myself, I bragged more than I should have. Word eventually reached O'Shaunnessy that I was the one who'd pulled off the job. Threats pertaining to my well-being, should we cross paths, soon made it back to me." He dragged his hand through his hair, then dared a peek at her. Her icy calm mask was in place, but in her eyes he saw the detective carefully calculating the case at hand.

"And if you don't do as Felicia asks…"

"She'll reveal who I am, _where_ I am, to O'Shaunnessy," he confirmed.

"And what exactly is it that she wants?" she questioned, as she stood to face the floor, "Other than you, in her bed, of course." He rose to his feet, defensive.

"Does she want that? Yes, yes, she does," he admitted, voice raised. "But there's only one woman with whom _I wish_ to share a bed with and you know damned well who that is!"

"Ha!" she barked. With a single word, their hesitant détente came to an end.

"It's the bloody truth!" he retorted, voice rising now as well. He watched, literally watched, as her walls went up and she shut down.

"Let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?" she requested, coolly. "What does—"

Then he was on top of her, spinning her around, cupping her face in his hands, his mouth covering hers.


	35. Chapter 35: Inadequate

Chapter 35: Inadequate

Shocked, Laura's arms flailed, then dropped limply to her sides. She should have known better, that he'd see her reaction as a sign of acquiescence. With a groan, he shifted the angle of the kiss, stepped closer, until his body brushed against hers. He kissed her hard, deep, thoroughly, a razor-sharp edge to the kiss that she'd only experienced at his hands a few times across the years. An entreaty coupled with harsh need. Of their own will, her arms raised up from her sides, one hand clutched at his shoulder, while the other hand caressed shoulder and arm.

Remington hummed, a hand slipping into her hair, cupping the back of her head, pressing her lips more firmly against his, as an arm slipped around her waist, tugging her close. He savored the sweetness of her taste, relished the feel of her in his arms, drowned in the scent of honeysuckle, grass and sunshine. His embrace tightened, he shifted his mouth again, wanting… needing… more of her taste, to refamiliarize himself with the texture of her lips, mouth, and tongue.

When her palms flattened against his chest and she shoved him away, he craned his neck trying to keep her near, but their lips parted at the last second with a resounding pop. The sudden loss of her, left him rubbing at his face and breathing hard.

"Don't!" she shouted.

"Why not?" he bellowed back.

"Because it confuses me. _You_ confuse me."

He suddenly felt as though they'd been transported back eight years, to that hotel room in Acapulco.

* * *

 _ **"Don't!"**_

 _ **"Why not?"**_

 _ **"You confuse me. It confuses me. It's what frightens me the most about having more than a working relationship with you! Every time we're on a case, not tending strictly to business, this same old confusion sets in."**_

* * *

He shook his head, hard, to dispel the feeling of déjà vu and forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Do you think this was easy for me? _Is_ easy for me? Well, it's not." She spoke rapidly as she paced the limited floor space. "We tried. We failed. It's time—"

"Tell me you no longer love me," he demanded, stalking across the room towards her. "Look me in the eye and _tell me_ you no longer love me." Their eyes met and held. For long moment they stood in a mental toe-to-toe, then she shook her head and walked away, as she lifted a hand to rub at her brow.

"Don't you understand?" she asked quietly. "It doesn't matter if I do. Not when—" She clamped her mouth closed and worried her lower lip with her teeth for a long second. "It doesn't matter." But she'd caught herself too late, and he latched onto the last two words she spoken.

"Not when. Not when.. what?" he pressed. Her chin tilted upwards, as she shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," she repeated. "What does Felicia want from you?"

"Not when, what, Lau-ra?" he asked again, ignoring her attempt to change the subject. "Not when… you believe me to be bedding Felicia?" She flinched, but said nothing. He walked away, rubbing at his face. So, that wasn't at the heart of things, her silence attesting to as much. As a thought came to mind, he turned to look at her, eyes wide, mouth agape. "Tell me you're not prepared to end our marriage because I dared to suggest we close down the investigative arm of the Agency!?" He let out the breath he'd been holding when her eyes filled with anger, and her cool mask cracked, revealing how insulted she was by the suggestion. She recovered quickly, but he'd seen the underlying misery in her eyes, before she took on her air of cool detachment again. His eyes drifted from her face, to the hands she was unconsciously wringing. He swallowed, prepared to force the words past his lips, because there was only one other reason left that he could think of why.

"There's no point in—"

"Not when, what, Laura?" He hadn't meant to yell; his goal had never been to make her jump. But he needed to hear the words, from her, because only then would he be able to believe their marriage could not be salvaged. "Tell me! I have the right to hear from you why you're planning on tearing apart our marriage, our family!"

And with that accusation came the final stone which made the burden too great for her to carry.

"I can't be a married to a man who sees me as inadequate!" He froze, dumbfound. Stared. Then exploded.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?! I don't see you as _inadequate_ ," he refuted, saying the last word as though it left a foul taste in his mouth.

"Don't lie to me, Mr. Steele! If you have a right to know why our marriage, then I'm entitled to the _truth_."

"I _don't_ see you as _inadequate_ ," he protested, vehemently.

"You're _lying_ ," she accused. " _Everything_ changed the day we found out I can no longer have children. You backed away. You stopped touching me, stopped flirting, stopped trying to get me in a clinch in the office!" She drew in a sharp, deep breath and let it out in a shuddering whoosh. "If I had any doubt, _any doubt_ , that you had to be drinking half the night before _screwing me_ and even then couldn't get away from me fast enough afterwards would have dispelled it!"

"I do not need to be drunk to want you," he shouted, thoroughly offended by the charge, almost, but not quite, as offended as he'd been that night. "Are you in the room? Can I hear you? Can I smell the scent of your perfume? Am I thinking about you? Pick one. I need no more than that to want you."

"Needed. Past. Tense!" she insisted, cutting a hand across the front of her body, pacing more vigorously.

"Need!" he shot back. "And I needed you that night, because I have bloody well missed you, _not_ because I was drunk. Had hoped, even, that making love would build a bridge between us as we have never, _not once_ , lied to one another in bed. But you lied that night—"

"I did no such thing," she denied, her back straightenig in indignation.

"You bloody well submitted to me!" he shouted. "Laura Holt who cedes ground to no man, _submitted to_ me! Do you have any idea what it did to me when I realized you were letting me _use_ your body for my pleasure, nothing more? That you weren't making love with me, but were merely… _submitting!..._ to me? I have _never screwed_ you, but that night bloody well left me feeling as though I'd treated you as a punter would a tart he'd pick up off the streets of Brixton."

"I didn't," she denied again, less convincingly, as the memories of that night assailed her. _Is he telling the truth?_ At first, she had thought it was nothing more than a bittersweet dream: The familiar touch of his hand, his lips; the way he caressed her; his scent, comforting and arousing at once. She'd missed him. Had needed for him, for them, to be like it was not so long ago. She'd needed him to convince her that she'd let her imagination run wild, that he didn't suddenly see her as less than—And then she'd smelled the alcohol on his breath.

"You did. You did," he insisted. "How many times have we made love? A thousand? More? I know how you sound, what you say, how you touch me, how you move. At some point, you began to pretend." She'd frozen, at first, she remembered now. The alcohol on his breath. It had seemed like confirmation, at the time, that the fears which has been swallowing her whole were well founded. She'd gone on autopilot, using the tricks she'd learned over the years to send him over the edge.

His anger fled as her denials stopped, leaving both of them mired in misery. He leaned his back against the counter again, breathing hard and shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked away from her.

"I left, as I did, because I was furious with you for lying, in act if not words," he finished quietly, "And disgusted with myself because when I realized you were putting on a pretense I couldn't… stop."

Laura stopped pacing at the couch and sat down heavily upon it. Bracing her elbows against her knees, she dropped her head in her hands. He waited her out. When she raised her head, she held out both hands, palms up.

"I thought…" Her face pinched in distress and she looked away. With a nearly imperceptible nod of his head, he pulled his hands from his pocket, and crossed the room to join her on the couch. Cautiously, he reached for one of her hands, holding it between his.

"I believe we've both 'thought' too much of late, don't you?" he suggested, quietly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. He could see her doubts still reflected in her eyes.

"Do you blame me for what happened to you?" he asked, the question feeling like sand against his tongue, his heart hammering against his ribs in answer to the fear of what her answer might be. "Had I not continued my association with Clarissa, there likely would have been no Castoro, no need to take refuge in Twin Pines. You'd have delivered the babe here at home with Adams, and maybe-" She lay her other hand on top of his, and, with a squeeze, stopped him from speaking. He eyed her warily, as she drew her lips together in thought.

"I think," she began carefully, "Someone once told me he'd never regret how a child was born to us."

* * *

 _ **I will not spend a single moment regretting any child that is born to us, no matter if it were by design or by surprise!"**_

* * *

"We have no idea how much damage the placenta increta would have caused had I given birth here in LA," she continued, thoughtfully, logically, "But we do know, had Castoro not entered our lives, Sophie would be out there with God knows who. A foster family, an orphanage, or God forbid, with her grandparents. Sophie may not have been born to us, but I won't spend a single moment regretting how she came to be our daughter." He swallowed, hard, and nodded his head, rapidly, his relief palpable. Her next words, reignited that pounding in his chest. "But whether I blame you, or you blame me, doesn't change anything." He licked his lips and moved his lips several times before he pushed the words past them

"What do you mean?" She pulled her hand from his and stood. She crossed the room to stand before the bookshelves. She lifted a hand to knead at her brow.

"It doesn't change the fact that I can never have another child…" she averted her face from his eyes "And that, one day, you'll come to resent me for it." He couldn't help the low chuckle in his throat as he took to his feet. Grasping her hand in his, he drew her stiffened frame into his arms.

"Ah, Laura, after all these years, I have yet to figure out how that mind of yours work at times." He bussed her on the top of the head, but released her when she pushed against his chest. In her eyes, he saw a bit of the old fire, that fire Melina had described and he hadn't realized had nearly been extinguished.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded to know. He captured her hand again, and tugged her towards the sofa. Embracing her hand between his again, he shifted to look at her. A smile played on his lips when she turned her head.

"Do you recall the evening of your birthday party?" That caught her attention and she turned to look at him, a questioning look on her face. "In our room?" he hinted. "Livvie giving Lina fits about her hair? I said I wished to speak with you later that evening?" Her brows furrowed, as she tried to recall.

* * *

 _ **"You and I? Tonight, after our guests depart, we need to have a bit of a chat… b**_ _ **efore**_ _ **we see to that itch… if you don't mind."**_

 _ **"Oh, is something the matter?"**_

 _ **"Not at all."**_

* * *

She nodded her head slowly, her lips lifting in a smile for too short of time.

"We never did have that conversation," she remembered now.

"No, we didn't," he agreed. "But I think perhaps we should have it now… at least some version of it, if you don't mind." Her eyes flicked back and forth across his face looking for a hint of what was to come. Seeing none, she gave her head a single nod.

"Alright," she drew out the word.

"When we were in Greece the second time," he wet his lips, hesitant to come too near the topic of Roselli "As you recovered, I shared with you my dreams of the future, if you recall. Off Livvie, then Holt. But I never envisioned us with more than two children. Did you?" She laughed quietly.

"Most days, I had difficulty picturing us with more than one," she admitted.

"And yet here we are with…" he raised his brows at her "…three. Outnumbered, as a certain young woman cruelly pointed out while the girls were sick." The smirk she gave him lightened his heart considerably. "That evening, when I wished to speak to you? I'd every intention of throwing myself on my sword, so to speak." The smile faded and her brows knit together.

"What do you mean?"

"If, as I had believed we were in agreement on, two children were all we wished to have, I'd intended to… volunteer… to, uh, take on the…" he cleared his throat "…responsibility for birth control." To his consternation, she continued to look at him questioningly. "Quite permanently," he added. It took a second, but her eyes blinked then widened.

" _You_ were going to offer to get a—"

"Vasectomy," he finished. "It seemed silly for you to spend who knew how many more years taking a pill each day when a small surgical procedure with minimal recovery time offered even better odds of no surprises down the line."

"A vasectomy," she repeated, still stunned that he'd thought of such a thing, let alone had been planning to volunteer himself up.

"Tell me, Laura. If you'd never faced the complications you have… had I gone through with the procedure… would you have seen me as _inadequate_? Would you have come to resent me in time?"

"Of course not," she replied, vehemently. Back straightening at the perceived insult, she tried to pull her hand out of his, but he held firm.

"Then, why, Laura, do you beileve it of me?" he quietly reasoned.

Before she could answer, their heads turned in unison as the mobile phone on the kitchen counter began to ring.


	36. Chapter 36: Small Steps

Chapter 36

"Hi, Mommy!" Olivia's sweet voice came over the line.

The mobile phone in the kitchen had begun to ring during a moment of peaceful, but honest, conversation. With a glance at her watch, Laura had jumped up from where she was sitting and hurried to the counter.

"Hi, baby," Laura crooned in answer.

"Thea Lina gotted us at school today. Where is you and Da?" Livvie inquired as she climbed up onto her parents' bed.

"'Where _are_ you and Da," Laura corrected, gently, as her eyes flicked to the man standing next to her. "Da and I are on a business trip."

"Will you comed home tonight?" Livvie asked, as she walked to the middle of the bed on her knees. "C'mon, Sophie, it's okay."

"Livvie, is Sophie okay?" Laura asked with concern. She'd spent half of her time on the beach worrying how their oldest daughter would react to her parents' sudden disappearance.

"I tolded her we can get on your bed, but she's afraid you'll be mad," Livvie shared, with a huff. On the opposite side of the line, Laura smiled at their younger daughter's put out affect.

"Livvie Bee? You can tell Sophie Mommy said it's fine to get on our bed," she instructed. Livvie hopped up and down on her knees.

"Sophie, Mommy saided it's okay to be'd on her bed." She grinned at her sister, as Sophie climbed up and joined her. "Sophie camed up, Mommy!" she announced, happily.

"That's good, baby. Did Thea Lina take you to dance tonight?"

"Uh-huh, and for our dresses too!" Laura mentally blew a sigh of relief. So, the girls hadn't missed their costume fittings. That was one less worry on her plate. "Are you looking forward to Michaela's birthday party tomorrow."

"Uh huh. She's gonna have a bouncy house," Livvie related.

"That sounds like fun," Laura enthused. Livvie stood up on the bed and began to bounce.

"Mommy? When are you and Da comed home?" she wondered.

"Olivia," Lina called from the nursery where she was rocking Holt, "Use care, please. We've no wish to make a trip to the emergency ward this evening." Laura's ears perked up at the words, coming from the background

"Are you jumping on the bed, Olivia?" she intuited. Livvie's eyes widened, and she plopped down on her bottom.

"Not no more," she answered, then repeated, "When are you and Da comed home?"

"'Coming home.' Not too long, baby. I'll be there to take you to your next dance class," Laura promised.

"Okay. Can I talk to Da?" the precocious three-year-old requested. Laura ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth and silently laughed while rolling her eyes. She might be Mommy but Livvie was Da's girl.

"He's right here. Don't give Thea Lina trouble about going to bed and be sure you brush your teeth."

"Okay," Livvie agreed, drawing out the word to make her dissatisfaction with those two edicts known.

"I love you, baby and we'll talk in the morning," Laura managed to finish, before Remington pried the phone from her hand.

"Well, if it isn't the little Lady Steele!" he teasingly greeted his little daughter.

"Da, you didn't telled me goodbye," she scolded in return.

"In trouble, then, am I, a stór?" Next to him, Laura quietly snickered. There was at least one advantage to not being the parent the sun rose and set upon. Livvie remained silent as she picked at invisible pieces of lint on the bedspread. "I suppose I'll have to ring up Monsieur Pierre and tell him you, Sophie and I will be having high tea next weekend to make up for it then, eh?" The announcement took Livvie to her knees on the bed again.

"Sophie, Da's going to take-ed us to tea!" she informed her sister happily.

"Tea?" Sophie could be heard asking quietly in the background.

"A tea party at Monser Pear's!" Livvie clarified. Sophie took to her knees, mimicking Livvie's position on the bed, smiling widely.

"I like tea parties!" she exclaimed.

"Monser Pear's gives us tiny sammiches, and tarts and…"

"Livvie," Remington tried to garner his daughter's attention. With a look of resignation, he moved the phone so Laura could also listen in.

"… fruit and cakes."

"Oh, I like cake!" Sophie exclaimed, with a bounce on her knees.

"We get dress-did up!" Livvie announced. Laura laughed softly at the conversation. One day Remington might learn that, much like himself, their little girl was prone to dismissing all around her when tempted with something she enjoyed.

"We do?" Sophie asked, wide-eyed.

"Uh-huh. In our pretty dresses!" Livvie shared.

"Livvie Bee, it's almost time for bed. Talk to Da, before you have to go," Laura stepped in. In their bedroom, Livvie sobered instantly. Forget herself, she might, but when Mommy spoke, it meant business.

"Da, we gets to wear tutus for our ballet recettal." His brows drew together as he interpreted what she meant.

"Re-ci-tal, a stór," he corrected. "The tutus meet with your approval, I take it?" Livvie frowned.

"Huh?"

"You like the tutus," he clarified.

"Uh-huh. They sparkle!"

"I'm sure you and Sophia will make beautiful ballerinas," he complimented.

"Olivia, allow Sophie her turn with Mommy and Da," Lina instructed from the nursery.

"Okay," Livvie huffed the word. "Thea Lina says it's Sophie's turn, Da." He nodded, having overheard.

"Codladh sámh. Sleep well, a stór. Mommy and I love you very much and will speak to you in the morning." Livvie handed Sophie the phone, then stood to jump on the bed again.

"Hello?" Sophie's soft voice came over the line.

"Ah, a thaisce, did you have a good day at school today?" She perked up at the question.

"I told Jamie and Billy roasted crickets are crunchy," she shared, proud of herself for remembering to pass on that little nugget of wisdom.

"That they are," he hummed. "And jump rope? How did you fare at that today?"

"We didn't jump rope today," she answered in a wistful voice. "We did hulahoops." Remembering something, she brightened. "Livvie did really good at hulahoops."

"I did-ed nine," Livvie announced as she flopped down on the bed.

"She did nine," Sophie repeated for her sister. His lips twitched upwards as Laura fidgeted anxiously next to him.

"And yourself?"

"Only five," she sighed. "I never did hulahoops before." Laura gesticulated with her hand that he shoud hurry.

"The first time and you did five? Why, you'll be an old pro in no time." With a laugh, he conceded he'd have to give up the phone. "I'm afraid I have to give Mommy the phone unless I wish to receive a sound scolding. Codladh sámh. Sleep well, Sophie Bird. Here's Mommy." Laura tugged the phone from his hand.

"Hi, Soph," she greeted warmly, "How are you doing, sweetie?" Sophie stole a glance at her sister, who seemed occupied with staring at the sketches above the fireplace in their parents' room.

"I miss you," she answered quietly.

"Oh, Soph, I miss you, too," Laura assured. "I _promise_ you, Da and I will be home in time for me to take you and Livvie to dance on Tuesday. And until then, we'll talk _every night_ before you go to bed, _every morning_ when you get up, and if you need me, I'll be sure to tell Thea Lina you can call me. Okay?"

"Okay," Sophie agreed.

"Tell me all about school today," Laura prompted.

"I practiced my name," she announced then sighed. "Miss Keating says my 's' goes the wrong way." Laura couldn't help the smile that played on her lips. As Sophie continued to open up, it was becoming more and more apparent the little girl placed high demands on herself, whether it was at dance, on the playground or in the classroom.

"I don't know many _just_ four-year-old's who can write their name, at all," she pointed out, logically. "You should be very proud of yourself, Soph, because you can. I know I am. But I promise, we'll work on your 's' when I get home. What else did you do?"

"We made flowers in art," Sophie volunteered.

"You did?!" Unseen by Laura, Sophie smiled and nodded her head.

"Out of egg cartons and pipe… pipe…"

"Pipe cleaners?" Laura suggested.

"Uh huh! I painted my flowers purple. Guess what color Livvie did hers." Laura laughed silently. _As if there was more than one color she'd paint them._

"Um," she elongated the word, pretending to consider the question. "Orange?"

"No," Sophie replied, similarly lengthening the word.

"Blue," Laura 'tried' again.

"Nooooooooooooo."

"Green?" Sophie giggled on the other end of the line.

"Pink!"

"Ohhhhhh, pink. Of course! What was I thinking?" Laura laughed with her daughter, then sobered. "Soph, are you excited about Michaela's party tomorrow?"

"Livvie says she's gonna have a bouncy house. I've never been in a bouncy house," she worried.

"All you do is get in and jump, and for a jump roping champ like you, it'll be a piece of cake," Laura told her, snapping her fingers at the last. "You'll have fun, Soph. Trust me."

"Sophia, say goodnight," Lina directed as she walked into the bedroom from the nursery. "It's time for you and Olivia to take your baths."

"Goodnight," Sophia said dutifully into the phone.

"Goodnight, sweetie. Your Da and I love you very much and we'll talk to you in the morning." There was a rustle on the line as Sophia hand the phone to Lina.

"Go choose a nightgown to wear, girls," Lina told them, then turned her focus to the phone. "Hello?"

"Lina, how is the baby?" Laura asked.

"Fed, rocked and now sleeping soundly." Laura sighed. She was relieved Olivia and Holt seemed to be fairing fine, but she couldn't help worrying about her oldest child.

"I'm not going to ask how involved you are in this plot of Mildred's," Laura began, "But it couldn't have happened at worse time for Sophie. We were making such strides and now…." Her words stopped, as she lifted and dropped a frustrated hand. "I shoud have been with her at the party tomorrow. Crowds frighten her, overwhelm her. And her nightmares…" She trailed off again, then widened her eyes in surprise when Remington relieved her of the phone.

"Melina, I'll deal with _you_ when we get home," he spoke, without preamble, turning to watch as Laura trudged to the couch then sat down wearily on it. "In the meantime, allow me to make myself perfectly clear: Should Sophie need Laura, be it day or night, you are to call us. Correction: Should either of the girls needs us they are to be permitted to call. These are _our_ children we've been shanghaied from, and we'll not have them suffering for it."

"Xen, you know better than to warn me in such a way," Melina reprimanded. "To an Androkus, family is everything. I would no more allow them to suffer than Mama or Papa would." He rubbed at his mouth with a hand then nodded his head slowly.

"I know, I know," he acknowledged.

"The children are waiting on me, but might I hazard to offer you a piece of advice?" she asked.

"Would it matter if I said no?" he chuckled.

"Make the most of this time together. Καλό βράδυ."

"Καλό βράδυ," he returned, then pressed the end button, disconnecting the call. He carried the phone with him to the couch where he sat down and lay his head against the cushions while regarding his wife. "Lina gave me her word she'll call should one of the children need to speak with us."

"I heard." She blew out a little puff of frustrated air. "This… plot to snatch us… " she shook her head "…isn't fair to the girls. We didn't have the opportunity to explain, to say goodbye." Rubbing his cheek, he studied her profile.

"Is that truly what's on your mind?" he challenged, quietly. Her head lolled in his direction. He took in her strained, bleary eyes, the line between her brows, each a testament to a headache lying-in-wait.

"Ahhh," he hummed, taking to his feet again. Grasping her hands in his, he tugged her upwards."Shower, climb into bed, then I'll be up to help with that," he ordered. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, averted her face.

"You don't have to do that." The offer reminded her of all the unresolved issues between them. He saw right through her.

"A truce, Laura," he requested, wearily. She turned her head, examined his eyes, the nuances of his expression as he spoke. "Just for tonight. We can go round all you wish tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. All I ask for is _just_ this one night." Her shoulders sagged as she let her guard down, and she nodded slowly.

"Alright," she agreed, drawing the word out. She needed this one night too. The gratitude that shone in his eyes at her acquiescence was well worth setting aside the anger, the misunderstandings and the injuries they'd caused one another for the night. Without another word spoken, she turned towards the stairs.

Thirty minutes later, he joined her in the lone bedroom in the house. Already installed in the bed, her hair lay damp and curling against the pillow, while her bare shoulder offered a dazzling array of freckles for his eyes to feast upon. The pang of need that shot through his groin was both intense and instantaneous. He silently gave thanks to the nearly four years of abstinence which had taught him well how to tamp down his body's response to the woman before him. He pretended not to notice her eyes following him as he walked to his suitcase, removed a pair of pajamas then modestly sequestered himself behind the closed bathroom door. Minutes later, he reemerged, dressed and ready for bed. He reclined on top of the covers, his back against the headboard, then hesitated before reaching for her hand.

"Come here, Laura," he bade. She hesitated, much like he had, then turned and lay her head in his lap, her eyes fluttering closed.

She focused on his fingers at her temples, allowed herself to relax into his touch. He'd barely begun when she felt the tension begin to release, drawing from her a soft hum. His eyes moved to her face at the sound, and he watched, silently, the interplay of thoughts and emotions on display there.

She hadn't realized how much she'd missed his touch. In the early days of their association, it had taken some time to get used to the constant brushes of his fingers against her, the pressure of them at the small of her back when they walked. She had even once questioned if those touches were part of his seduction repertoire. But in time, she'd come to realize, touch and his feelings were inexorably bound to one another. Touch allowed him to communicate the emotions that, even all these years later, could leave him nervous, tongue-tied. A glancing brush of his fingers against her hand meant he was feeling particularly close to her. The hand at the small of her back alternately expressed his pride that it was he in her company, a unspoken possessiveness, and an assurance that he'd protect her should the need arise. In trying times, a palm cupping her cheek was an offer of comfort; in happy times, it was an indication he was feeling particularly tender towards her.

She couldn't help the smile that twitched at the corner of her lips. It had taken them crossing that line for her to truly understand how deeply touch and intimacy were woven together for him. Touch, to him, was the most intimate of acts, as he'd once tried to explain to her, as they'd lain in bed, talking, their fingers laced together while they spoke.

* * *

" _ **I cannot recall a single woman I've done this with, let alone on a regular basis as I do you. It implies a level of intimacy, a desire to be close, that I've not ony not felt but also did not wish to convey."**_

* * *

Goosebumps skittered over her skin as his fingers moved from her temples to massage her scalp. The smile on her lips disappeared, as more somber thoughts replaced fond memories.

She hadn't realized how much his touch had meant to her, how secure in his love for her she felt because of it, until it had disappeared. At first, after her surgery, he'd been more tentative with his touch, cautious even. Later, as the anger and hurt had festered between them, it had been withdrawn all together. Gone, with that touch, had been the secuity in which she'd basked for almost five years. The withdrawal of his touch had allowed the fears he suddenly found her 'less than' to fester and grow, and the burgeoning distance between them had made it all too realistic that he'd engage in an affair, finding what he wanted, needed, elsewhere.

Under his watchful eyes, her brow furrowed. His hands slipped free of her hair, moved to her shoulders. Her body shuddered and she sighed deeply, both acts unconscious recognition that relief of the tension that had lingered there for weeks was soon to come.

She'd been so certain he blamed herfor ruining his dreams of a larger family, that he'd found her suddenly barren state repulsive. But if what he'd said earlier was true, it didn't compute.

* * *

 _ **"Are you in the room? Can I hear you? Can I smell the scent of your perfume? Am I thinking about you? Pick one. I need no more than that to want you."**_

* * *

 _ **"As you recovered, I shared with you my dreams of the future, if you recall. Of Livvie, then Holt. But I never envisioned us with more than two children."**_

* * *

And she did believe him. She knew all his tells when he was lying and not a single one of them had been present. Insulted. Appalled. Stunned. Flummoxed. All of those had applied when she'd revealed what she'd come to believe. Deception was an emotion not present. Then what?

At her deepening frown, one of his hands left her shoulders to stroke her hair. She relaxed under the familiar, comforting touch.

Touch. As much as he conveyed his feelings through it, he also _needed_ it He would never fully trust words. As a child, words had promised him a home, and those words had betrayed him. Living as a child on the streets, his life after Daniel had found him, only reinforced his distrust as he watched people use words to get whatever it was they wanted, be damned the consequences. But touch? He believed in touch as much as he did deeds, for he could read touch as fluidly as most could read the written word. He needed her touch to draw him out, when most anxious… or afraid. Her touch anchored him, made him feel safe… wanted. Her touch made him believe the words, made every chance they'd taken to get here worth the risk.

Her hand twitched as understanding dawned.

* * *

 _ **"Do you blame me for what happened to you? Had I not continued my association with Clarissa, there likely would have been no Castoro, no need to take refuge in Twin Pines. You'd have delivered the babe here at home with Adams, and maybe-"**_

* * *

"… _ **all of it by your hand."**_

* * *

 _"_ _ **You**_ _ **are my home…"**_

* * *

She'd seen it on his face, in his eyes, when she'd awakened in the hospital the morning after the emergency surgery that was needed to save her life. She'd pressed him to talk about it, but their conversation had stalled when Catherine, Thomas and the girls arrived. She'd never returned to the subject… and he wouldn't have voluntarily reminded her, as reluctant as he'd been to talk about it in the first place.

The Agency had been her dream, family his. In his eyes, his dream was only possible because of her. It was he who had brought up the topic of a second child. He'd drawn a parellel from himself to Clarissa to Castoro to the hospital where she'd given birth.

It was she who had nearly died. The person he saw as the center of all he cared about. As his home.

Somewhere along the line, he'd gotten into his head that it all came back to him. Another thing she wondered if it would ever change about him: Him, believing providence was still waiting to strike a blow for the sins of his past.

Her eyes still closed, she lifted a hand to worry her brow, the action drawing a concerned look from Remington.

Why hadn't she seen it? It was the first time her life had been at risk since Roselli kidnapped her. He would have had a difficult time enough coping with the idea of having nearly lost her. That he questioned how much of the responsibility for that lay at his own feet? She had known, she had seen, how troubled he was that morning in the hospital. It wasn't like her not to pursue the why of it, interruption or no interruption. It wasn't like her not to notice when he was struggling, which apparently he'd continued to do.

But now that she'd put it all together?

He watched as her eyes opened. Of all the things he'd considered she might have been fixated on, he wasn't at all prepared for what came next.

She reached for his left hand and holding it in her hand, she began to trace his palm with a single fingertip.

"Tell me what happened the night you found me in the bathroom."


	37. Chapter 37: Lines

Chapter 37: Lines

"What? No, Laura, no," Remington objected. He yanked away his hand and lunged from the bed. She pushed up to sit on her knees as he moved several paces away and dragged a hand through his hair.

" _Tell me,_ " she pressed, quietly. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, but remained resolutely silent. "Whatever happened that night? That's when everything _started,"_ she implored. "We were _fine_ until then. Don't you see? Unless you tell me, it will always be between us, causing doubts, creating more… confusion," she finished with a nod of her head. His hands searched for pockets to hide in, hung limply at his sides when he found none.

"Laura," he resisted, eyes pleading with her not to pursue the matter.

"Remington," she replied, holding out her hand to him, a silent refusal, "Come back to bed." He looked around the room while rubbing the back as of neck, as if he were looking for an escape. Finding none, he ran his hand across his mouth, and reluctantly resumed his position on the bed. After settling her head on his lap, she reclaimed his hand. "Tell me," she repeated. Her fingertip traced his palm, as though she'd never stopped. He closed his eyes and lay the back of his head again the headboard. His lips parted several times as if to begin, only to close again. He frowned, swallowed hard, and spoke.

"I woke and you weren't in bed beside me." His free hand fisted, unseen, in the sheet next to him. "I thought I hadn't come awake when the babe cried… that you'd gone off to feed him." He pressed a pair of fingers against his lips, as the images of that night flashed through his head. "I still don't understand why I didn't think to check the bloody loo for you, given for months you'd be up two, three, a half dozen times a night." The hand dropped to the bed, grabbing at the sheet again. Her eyes drifted upwards to look at him, saw his handsome face, distorted by guilt. "But I didn't. I checked the entirety of the house before I found you there." He drew in a breath, fought for calm, as the image of her, unconscious on the floor, came clearly to mind. "You were unconscious, just laying there upon the floor. I didn't know, at first, what had happened to you. Had you become dizzy? Fallen? When I kneeled beside you—" He opened his eyes, looked down at her, fingering the still reddened mark where she'd gashed her head near the hairline, and words failed him. "Laura…" he tried again.

"Remington, it's only a memory," she reminded him, softly. "I'm alright. I'm right here." Drawing his hand towards her, she pressed her lips against his palm. He drew in a breath, let it out slowly and nodded his head rapidly. After another swipe of his hand at his mouth, he settled his hand in her hair, and focused his eyes on the wall in front of him.

"When I kneeled beside you, turned you over and saw the gash, I knew you'd taken a blow to your head." He closed his eyes again, going back to that evening. "Somewhere in the back of my mind, it had registered my knees were growing damp, but, still, it took me a moment to understand." Before she knew what happened, he'd skittered away, took to his feet, was pacing the floor again. She ignored the pull of her ribs as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"Go on," she encouraged. He drew a hand through his hair again, then in lieu of pockets, crossed his arms in front of himself, refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Laura…"

"Go on," she answered firmly. With a huff, aggravated with her she knew, he clenched his jaw.

"Your blood. I was kneeling in your blood," he rasped. "I looked and… I yelled, for Melina. Must've woke up the whole house, as the girls arrived right behind Lina. Livvie… My God, Livvie…" His face contorted in the second before he rubbed at it with his hand. "She saw, was so frightened she screamed out for you. And Sophie? She just stood there, silent, staring. I yelled at Lina to take them from the room." Another shake of his head. On the bed, Laura's spine straightened, and her sharp gasp of air had far less to do with her ribs over the quick movement, and far more to do with the sudden flash of insight. _The girls. I had no idea…_ Fate couldn't have been more cruel to them, had it tried. In eyes he would have failed them all – Laura, because he hadn't found her soon enough; the girls because he'd sent them away. "I could hear Livvie crying all the way back to her room." He turned and settled a pair of tortured blue eyes upon her. "Our children, Laura. They were terrified, and instead of offering them words of assurance, any form of comfort, I ordered them away." She couldn't just sit by and watch as the weight of his guilt crushed him. With a grunt, she left the bed and went to him. He turned his head away, when she stopped in front of him.

"Look at me, Remington," she demanded, cupping his face in her hands and turning him to face her. She waited to speak until his eyes met with hers. "The girls are _fine_ ," she reassured, one hand leaving his cheek to streak through his hair. "You were protected them. You sent them away _to protect them_. And me, too, in an odd way." His face reflected his confusion.

"No, they needed—" She caught his head in her hands again, when he tried to step away. With a resigned look, he stopped speaking.

"We make difficult decisions on the job _all the time_ ," she reminded him, insistently. "Stay together, or seperate. The quickest way to safety. If one of us is merely rattled, or if one of us is really injured." She gave her head a little shake. "You assessed the situation, and determined who needed your help the most, because you instinctively knew anything else could be fixed later." She drew a hand through his hair again, relieved when he unconconsciously leaned into her touch. He was listening, wanted to believe what she was saying. "You did _exactly_ what I would have done. You didn't fail, Mr. Steele. You kept us all safe, as best you could." She watched his struggle, wanting to believe her but unsure. So, she did the only thing she knew to do, what years of knowing the man, loving him, had taught her: she encircled his neck with her arms, and pressed her body against him. She felt him hesistate, then his arms were crushing her, a hand at the back of her head melding her even closer.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to erase it from my mind," he rasped. "Livvie at the top of the stairs, crying, Sophie with her thumb in her mouth, watching as you were taken away."

"The girls were sound asleep, were probaby still half asleep while it was all happening," she reasoned. "I doubt either of them remember that night. If they do, they've never mentioned it to me." She rubbed his shoulder, the back of his neck. "Come on. Let's go back to bed," she suggested, stepping out of his embrace.

Silence lingered for long minutes as she traced his palm, and they each considered what had been said that evening. She supressed a yawn as everything coalesced in her mind.

"I think it's time we give ourselves a break, don't you?" she suggested. Opening his eyes, he peered down at her, while absently playing with a curly lock of her hair.

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"Neither of us could have done anythng to prevent what happened," she reasoned, "And there was nothing either of us had _done_ that could have caused it."

"If you'd been here in—"

"I don't want to hear how things might have been different if I'd delivered in LA," she cut him off, waving a hand and shaking her head in emphasis. "We have no idea of knowing what, if any difference, being here would have made. We have three beautiful children…"

"That we do," he agreed, the corner of his lips quirking upwards in a half-smile, as she yawned widely.

"I don't need any more, and if you don't either…"

"I don't," he confirmed.

"Then that's all that matters, isn't it?"she finished.

They fell silent again, as she continued to caress his hand with a fingertip and he toyed with her hair. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. He couldn't recall when they'd last taken time just for them, to talk, to check in with one another… to simply enjoy one another in quiet. How many potential problems had been stopped in their tracks because of these tete-a-tetes? How much more in sync had they been when they'd indulged in time together each evening?

"I can't remember the last time we did this," she commented, breaking the silence.

"Mmmm," he hummed, "It was just thinking much the same." Opening his eyes, bent his head and lifted his brows at her. "Seems we've forgotten your edict." She frowned a him.

"What edict?"

* * *

" _ **If…. When … we do this, you and I… our relationship, our marriage has to come first… before everything, even our children."**_

* * *

She smiled as he repeated, nearly verbatim, the words she'd said to him when they'd been contemplating 'not trying not to.'

"Seems we did," she agreed, on a yawn.

"But for now," he removed his hand from hers and patted her on the hip, "It would seem sleep is in order." She gave him a wry look.

"I won't disagree with you." With a grunt, she pushed herself to a sitting position, then shifted and wriggled beneath the covers. She reached for the lamp, then turned it off once he, too, had settled beneath the sheets.

The waves hitting the shore outside was the only sound in the room for a spell, as they lay on their own sides of the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"So," Remington's voice breached the silence, "Do we live on to fight another day?" He rolled to his side and faced her. "Hmmmm?" Laura pursed her lips, considering the question, only to admit it required no consideration at all. She slanted her eyes towards him.

"I think we do," she answered, lightly. He nodded his head rapidly, then returned to his back.

"Laura—"

"Only if you hand over the shirt, Mr. Steele…"

It was a codicil he was too happy to comply with, a bemused smile lifting his lips as he watched her turn away modestly to remove her nightgown and slip into his shirt. In short order, his front side was melded to her backside, his arm lay around her waist, and his breath gently stirred her hair.

In the hazy moment before sleep stole her away, she reached for his hand, tangled their fingers together, then tugged their joined hands upwards to tuck them between her breasts, ribs be damned. It was the first time in a long, long while, that his presence fully surrounded her… that she believed everything just might be alright, after all.

The approving buss atop her head was merely icing on the cake.

* * *

Remington bent over and examined the contents of the refrigerator. Whoever had stocked the larder was certainly familiar with their taste given the ingredients for favored dinners were all on hand: Chicken alfredo, veal medallionsi, salmon, filet mignon. But it didn't stop there: Slices of roasted turkey, Havarti cheese, milk, cream, eggs, ham, sausage, bacon, fresh vegetables and fruits filled the fridge, while the cabinets were stocked with coffee, tea, flour, bricks of white and dark chocote, an assortment of spices and a decent selection of wines waiting to be chilled.

 _White chocolate and raspberry crepes, some fresh fruit should tempt Laura's palate,_ he decided.

Returning to their room with a tray laden down with two plates, coffee, tea and juice, when he stepped into the room, he found Laura had already roused and was dressing for the day. He'd felt the evidence of her slimness the evening before as he'd held her in his arms while they slept, but with her bare back facing him as she carefully put on her bra, how thin she'd become was alarmingly clear. Guilt delivered a swift kick to his shin for his failure to notice.

"I thought we could do with a bite of breakfast," he announced. Startled, she turned to face him with a smile.

He swiftly sat the tray on the bed, his skin blanching as he viewed the sizeable swath of purple and black skin covering too prevalent ribs. Her smile faltered, faded, as she hurriedly grabbed a shirt and began buttoning it.

"It smells wonderful," she complimented, purposefully ignoring both what he'd seen and his reaction. He was having none of it.

"Breakfast can wait," he insisted. Approaching her, he brushed aside the pair of hands still slipping buttons through their corresponding holes, and began releasing them. "Let me look." She slipped away, and resumed buttoning.

"There's no need," she dismissed, airily, as she stepped into the small bathroom. Picking up her brush, she watched in the mirror as he stepped into the doorway and leaned a shoulder on the jamb.

"I believe that there is," he disagreed. "You may well have a broken rib or two."

"I'm alright," she countered, as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. The muscle in his jaw twitched, as he grew annoyed.

"You didn't mention you'd been injured." Dropping her brush on the counter, she shrugged her shoulders.

"No, I didn't," she agreed, siddling past him and reentering the bedroom. He merely turned towards the room, leaning his opposite shoulder against the jam, while shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Why not?" he demanded, with an edge to his voice. She picked up the cup of coffee off the tray, then, as an afterthought, his cup of tea.

"Your tea?" she offered. He accepted the cup from her, lifted it towards his mouth.

"Thank you..." Then identifying the distraction for what it was, set the cup down on top of the dresser nearby. "I don't want the bloody tea. What I'd like is an answer."

"We weren't exactly speaking," she replied. "I thought you were having an affair, remember?" He flashed her a smile, one that never quite reached his eyes.

"Then you won't mind telling me now, hmmm?" She took her time sipping her coffee as her eyes narrowed on him.

"It happened during an investigation," she finally answered.

"Go on," he encouraged he took a couple steps towards her.

"You made it patently clear," she cut a quick hand across her front, "that you want nothing to do with investigations, remember? As in do no investigations, see no invest—"

"I may have removed myself from investigations, but I still have to right to know when you've come to harm," he argued. "You're my wife, for bl—"

"It does't work like that, Mr. Steele," she cut in, adamantly. Coffee cup still in hand, she spun on her heel, and left the bedroom. He pursued.

"What does that mean?" he barked. Laura waved a hand in the air, the gesticulation part frustration, part warning, as she descended the staircase.

" _You_ chose to walk away from our partnership," she reminded him, "And you chose to leave me out there on my own. You drew the line. Not I."

"What, exactly, it is you're saying, Laura?" She pushed through the screen door at the front of the house and marched across the porch, before turning to face him.

"Work is work, home is home." Her chin took on a stubborn tilt. "If you don't want to know about the investigative arm of _our_ Agency, to be a part of it, then as far as I'm concerned that includes anything I do _or anyting that happens to me_ in the course of my work."

"The bloody hell it does," he exploded.

Both of their heads turned towards the house when the mobile phone rang within. With long legged strides, she crossed the porch and reentered the house.

"You drew the line," she retorted, over her shoulder at him, "So _you'll_ have to find a way to live with it."

"This conversation isn't over, Miss Holt," he forewarned, as she picked up the phone.

"It is from where I stand." She stabbed at the button the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mommy," Livvie squealed with delight.

"Hi, Livvie Bee," Laura drew out the words. "Did you sleep good last night?"

"Uh huh." Back at Casa Malaga, Livvie rested her chin in a hand, propped up by arm to kitchen counter. "Do you and Da comed home today?"

"'Come home.' No, baby, not today. Do you remember what I told you…"


	38. Chapter 38: Minimizing

Chapter 38: Minimizing

Laura slammed out the front door to the island house and marched across the porch towards the dock.

"I thought I made myself clear," she spit out over her shoulder at the determined Irishman nipping at her heels, "This discussion is over." She cut her hand through the air, emphasizing the statement. Remington had held his tongue until they'd finished eating breakfast , not that she'd consumed more than a few bites, then had resumed the argument they'd been having prior to the call from the girls.

"And, I believe I made myself clear when I said it wasn't," he reminded her. She growled and flicked a hand in his direction, impulsively changing course and veering for the sand. "This is beginning to feel eerily similar to the Laura Holt of old, who—"

"Oh, well, we can't have _that_ , now, can we?" she retorted.

"No. No, we can't," he agreed, "Not when it means you issue a command and expect _me_ to fall in line with no—"

"Ha! You're one to speak!" The reply caught him off guard, and he came to a stop while trying to deduce what it meant.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded to know, his long strides quickly closing the gap between them.

"You! That's what I mean," she shot back. "You decide, on your own, that the Agency needs to be shut down—"

"Not the Agency," he interjected, "Merely the investigative side."

"The investigative side of the Agency is all I have left of _Laura Holt!"_ she shouted, then with a wave of both hands in his direction, she spun on her heel, reversing direction. Thoroughly caught off the guard by the statement, he turned awkwardly, barely planting a hand in the sand to prevent him from planting face down in the sand. Righting himself, he scrambled after her.

"All you have left of Laura Holt?" he asked, lengthening each word in a mixture of confusion and astonishment.

"I was a nineteen-year-old math major when I decided I was done playing the game, doing what people expected of 'a young lady of breeding', as my mother used to say. 'Of breeding'?" She laughed. "I was born and raised in LA, which is about as far as you can get from New Canaan, Connecticut. I was sneaking out to watch The Byrds play at Whiskey A Go Go, using my fake ID to dance the night away at clubs on the Strip, not taking tea with the ladies or preparing for my coming out! " She looked at him. "I told you what I was like after my father left."

"Yes," he agreed. It was still so rare for Laura to speak of her childhood, that when she did, he was always eager to hear more about the girl he never knew. She stopped and crossed her arms around herself, protectively, rubbing at them as though suddenly chilled.

"Growing up, Mother, when speaking of Frances would use terms such as 'easy,' 'well-mannered,' or 'kind.' Me? I was 'overly sensitive', 'difficult', 'trying.'." She snorted a soft laugh, while gently nodding her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. Then she sobered and rubbed at her arms again. "For the first few months after my father left, 'trying' would be an understatement. But I'd found out two things about myself during that time: First, there is a big difference between rebelling by going dancing or drinking and losing your virginity in the backseat of a smelly car with a boy you didn't particularly like." She shrugged a careless shoulder at the admission, and her words paused.

"And second?" he prodded, after several ticks of the second hand on his watch. She blinked her eyes a couple of times as though coming back from somewhere far away.

"I didn't like myself very much. I'd always been a source of discord between my parents: I demanded too much from him; wanted to spend too much time with him; I refused to conduct myself as a young lady should and he permitted it, encouraged it, even. But I'd never purposefully gone out of my way to make them, or even myself, ashamed." A shiver went down her spine and goose bumps skittered over her skin, his watchful blue eyes taking note. "After that night with Marty, I…" she lifted a hand and dropped it, "…woke up. I realized no matter how much I rebelled, how poorly I behaved, my father wasn't coming back…"

"Is that… Is that when the panic attacks began?" he asked hesitantly, keeping his voice low, hoping only the question wasn't enough to make her stop speaking. She turned her head, studied his face at length, then returned her eyes to the water. With a sharp snap of her head, she acknowledged it was.

"When they first began, I overheard Mother speaking on the phone with my grandmother, in Connecticut." Her brow furrowed as she retrieved a memory that had been long ago been packed tightly away. When she spoke again, her tone was carefully neutral, a sign she was distancing herself from the emotions attached to those days. "First, I'd shamed myself, the family, and now I was being 'overly dramatic', wanting all attention on me, as though I was the only one that he'd walked out on. 'Poor Frances' should have been focusing on her planning her wedding, not having to keep an eye on me. It didn't matter to me that Mother had lost her husband, and had no idea how she was going to keep up with the mortgage payments, let alone put clothes on our backs and food on the table." She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "What could I say? She was right. I hadn't been able to see past myself."

"Laura, you were a child," he soothed.

"That wasn't an option," she dismissed, sharply. "Mother was withdrawing more and more, would spend _days_ not speaking, just sitting in her wingchair, a cup of tea in her hand or nearby, brooding, thinking… worrying. She didn't laugh, didn't cry… she didn't _do_ anything. She was just _there_ , numb with fear, so lost that even Frances couldn't get through to her. She was raised to be a wife, nothing more. She'd never had to pay a bill, call a repairman, or cut the lawn. That was a 'man's job.'" She walked away, pacing slowly. "The bills would arrive, and she'd just add them to the stack of other bills, lying unopened on my father's desk. The kitchen cabinets, the refrigerator were nearly completely bare: some yogurt, questionable cheese, stale bread, a few can of soup. The water heater broke." She laughed a soft, sad laugh. "We were fortunate it happened during the middle of the summer, because Mother didn't know what to do and for weeks we had only cold water in the house. But when the electric was turned off, something had to be done."

"And it was you," he concluded. He was flabbergasted. She'd never been able to hide the emotional scars caused by her father leaving, but he'd no idea it had gotten as bad as all that. He'd always envisioned a sad house, but a functional, upper-middle class one. That she'd only been a child herself, having to take on the load of the two adults who'd checked out?

"Yeah, it was. I hid the panic attacks, stopped talking about my father," she shared, then added ruefully, "And acting out."

"So you'd no longer be a burden," he concluded, softly.

"Yes," she answered, softly, shortly. She turned to give him a quick, sad smile. He swallowed hard when his inquisitive blue eyes met a pair of dull brown ones. "I dressed properly, spoke properly. I took the right classes in school. I cancelled the summer trip to France. B between the panic attacks and what needed to be done at home, I couldn't have gone, even if we could have afforded it. My dad had left some money in savings when he left and Mother had started a wedding account for Frances and I were small. Frances and I shut down those accounts, transferring all the money into savings. I sat down that night and wrote out four months of past due bills including the penalties and late fees, then the next morning went to the store and filled the house with food, cleaning supplies. There wasn't much left after that. But, my Gram sent Mother a stipend from the family's trust each month that would have paid the bills if not for my parent's credit card debt. Frances was working as a receptionist full time, saving money for her wedding and helping us out where she could…"

"And you?" he prodded, when she fell silent. She gave her head a shake, seemed to rejoin him.

"I babysat four, sometimes five, nights a week…" She snorted softly and gave him a wry look. "…Ran a paper route for the rest of high school."

"As in on your bike, a bag slung over your shoulders, and you—"

"Hurling them up onto doorsteps as I pedaled?" She laughed aloud, and nodded her head. "Yes."

"Tell me you were biking around in those skimpy little, bright colored shorts that were all the rage then," he pled, following her lighter mood. She gave him a saucy look.

"Oh, those and cut-offs that were even less generous with the material… At least during the summer," she teased. Her smile faded. She grew somber and turned her head away with a sigh.

"Was it enough?" he asked. She raised her brows.

"Yeah, it was," she replied. "By the time I left for college, the credit card debt was doable. Mother sold the house, and even after settling the remaining debt, managed to put a good amount into savings. She moved back to Connecticut to help with Gram, who was getting older."

"What happened at nineteen?" She glanced at him, as though surprised he'd remembered what she'd said.

"I don't know," she answered, pensively. "Maybe nothing more than I realized I was free. Frances was happily married, Mother didn't need me to keep things together any longer. I just sort of… woke up." She lifted a hand and dropped it. "I wasn't happy. I was a math major at Stanford because it was expected of me. In my Mother's eyes, if a woman went to college it should be for an 'acceptable' career choice: A bookkeeper, teacher, or a banker. Given my scholarship, I couldn't change my major, but I could change my career. Since the day my Grandmother had hired me to find her ring, I'd wanted to be a detective. I filled the elective slots in my schedule with classes in criminal justice, criminology, business administration and even took a psychology and sociology class – anything that might give me the edge on getting through the doors of a solid agency when I graduated. I started to go dancing. I went to protests, was even arrested," she laughed.

"Protesting Wellington Oil, if I remember correctly," he mused. She flashed him a quick smile of confirmation then became pensive again.

"I remembered how to be young, to be happy… how to follow my own path as my Grandmother had urged me to do. I learned how to—" She stumbled, unable to find the word or phrase.

"Live again," he suggested. She chewed on the word for a spell then shook her head, slowly, before looking up at him with a little more light in her eyes than had been there earlier.

"Breathe," she breathed. "I'd been holding my breath for so long, I'd forgotten how good it felt to take a breath without worrying the ceiling would fall in on me if I did." He nodded his head soberly.

"I can understand that. I've had a few such moments in my life," he commiserated, staring out over the water now himself. "The first time I'd ever experienced it was when Marcos and Elena took me in. When I no longer had to worry what threat each new day would bring, what shoe would next fall…" He could recall the instant he no longer felt like each day was something to be feared and, instead, had begun seeing the promise in the day to come. "I love them all the more for having allowed me that bit of respite."

"And would you willingly given them up on the off chance something _might_ happen if you didn't?" she questioned, slanting her eyes towards him. He scowled at the parallel she'd suggested.

"It's hardly the same thing," he protested. "Marcos and Elena were like parents to me!"

"You're right, what you're asking of me is far worse. You're forcing me to choose between Laura Holt – private detective and _your_ partner – and Laura Steele, wife and mother!" she answered, vehemently, as she started to pace. "As much as I love being Laura Steele, it can't come at the cost of that other part of me!"

* * *

 _ **"I'm terrified of losing myself in you. Of being swallowed up by you until there's no**_ _ **me**_ _ **anymore!"**_

* * *

He held a splayed hand over his lower face, the words that she'd once said to him coming unbidden to his mind, although how apropos they were. She'd once protected the Agency with all the feral ferocity of a lioness guarding her cub. Everything in her life from her tedious list of tasks to their personal relationship had been decided, first and foremost, with the Agency in mind. Since the year prior to their marriage, she'd willingly made one concession after another where the Agency was concerned, first taking time for them on a regular basis, then hiring staff to cover their decreased hours after Livvie's arrival, and, finally, cutting those hours even further to accompany Livvie twice weekly to dance.

And even then, she'd prioritized Sophie's needs over those of the Agency without so much as a blink.

She'd only balked when he'd suggested shutting down the investigative side altogether. He'd been blind… foolish… a buggering idiot. It wasn't as if she hadn't told him enough during their dizzying dance around one another that she was terrified of being consumed by someone else, their needs, their wants, their demands or of being shoved into the stereotypical role of wife and mother should she dare risk having it all. He'd even tested those waters a bit during the last year of their courtship.

* * *

 _ **"Supposing you had children? Just supposing. Would you intend to continue working? Or would you feed the little tykes breakfast in the morning and then rush off to a nice, juicy murder? I mean, would you call them up at school and apologize because you couldn't pick them up because you were being held hostage?"**_

 _ **"Are you saying a woman's place is in the home?"**_

* * *

He'd unwittingly played into her largest fear: Giving up piece-by-piece of herself, until there was nothing left.

Still…

"Laura, you must know I've no desire to turn you into someone you're not," he told her, as he cautiously made his approach. "It was, after all, Laura Holt's intelligence, creativity and mesmerizing temper which captivated me, kept me here." He stopped when they were nearly toe-to-toe. Pursing his lips, he gave her a goofy grin and wobbled his head. "Still does." He watched as the stress drained from her shoulders, and her eyes regained some of their glimmer. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though she should have known that, did know that but… She gave a nearly undetectable shake of her head, and looked up at him.

"I love being Laura Steele," she reiterated, then added almost regretfully, "But I love being Laura Holt, too." He nodded slowly, and shoved his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to draw her to him.

"I'd have it no other way," he assured again. "I simply want to minimize the risk to our family." He looked away towards the water, and swallowing hard, admitted, "To you, Laura." He blew out a deep breath, his pulse racing merely at the suggestion. "I don't know what I would do…" He couldn't finish the sentence. When her soft palm guided his head forward to look at her, he didn't resist, but there was a long pause before his troubled eyes met hers.

"Do you think it doesn't scare me that something might happen to you, to one of our children?" She gave a short huff of surprised disbelief. "There have been times when I have been so terrified I couldn't move. But each time we wake up, life holds risks. It's not just the Agency. Anna, Dancer, Wally, Roselli, even Castoro. All people who have come after us even though our association with them began as personal, not business. Felicia, her threats now, that's personal as well. It's all unpredictable, unpreventable." He stared at her for several ticks of the second hand, trying to let her convince him. But he couldn't. He shook his head and took several steps away.

"Isn't that an argument, then, for eliminating the risks where we can?" he demanded to know.

" _Minimize_ , Remington," she argued. "The only way we could eliminate risks altogether would be to shut the Agency doors altogether, pull the girls from school and move somewhere so remote that neither your past nor mine could find us. Then how do you defend us against accident, illness… some freak act of nature? And if that is not enough to make you understand, then maybe I should point out how many times on a security job that someone has wanted what we were protecting and our lives have been put at risk. Kessler and Neff during the very security job that made your path and my path cross! If you want to minimize the risk, the way to do that is not by closing the investigative side or leaving me out there with a partner who doesn't have your instincts!" He did a double take, as understanding dawned.

"Then, it's not so much a matter of my _choosing_ not to know about what happens to you," he hypothesized, "It's that you hold me to blame that it happened at all." Her chin tipped upwards.

"Would it have happened if you had been there?" she challenged.

"Not if I could have prevented it," he retorted.

"Burton's a great investigator, but he doesn't have _your_ instincts. He never saw the punch coming that took him down. _You_ would have and absent that you would have known just by looking at me that you were about to be blindsided. " She stepped to him and lay her hand on his chest, a peace offering. "The answer isn't in closing the Agency or abandoning our partnership. It's in agreeing that we assess the risk of a particular case and determine whether it will be us or Burton and Celek who take it." Unconvinced, he rubbed at his mouth, while troubled eyes looked down at her.

"I don't know…"

"Remington, I'm thirty-five. It won't be long until nature makes it impossible for me to do the job any longer," she reasoned, then look up at him with hopeful eyes. "Let's have a little fun together while we still can. What do you say?"

There was a light in her eyes that he hadn't seen in far too long a time and he simply didn't have it in him to be the one to extinguish it. With a slow nod of his head, he dropped his hand from his face, and drew her to him.

"No unnecessary risks, Miss Holt," he breathed, pressing his cheek against her head, tightening his embrace.

"Same to you, Mr.—" She abruptly stopped speaking and stiffened in his arms, as she pressed up on her tiptoes to peek over his shoulder. "Sophie," she murmured, in response to the ringing of the phone inside the little house. Pushing herself away from him, she ran for the house and the phone.


	39. Chapter 39: The First Time

Chapter 39: The First Time

Remington stepped into the doorway of the house. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he leaned a shoulder against the jamb, his eyes on the silhouette framed by the sunset, sitting with one leg drawn up, the other dragging in the water, at the end of the dock.

Since the phone call that morning, Laura's tension had shown in her shoulders, neck and around her eyes. While Mildred & Company's little kidnapping gambit had thus far had its desired effect in forcing the couple to face the issues between them, there was a most unpleasant off-shoot of their scheme that had clearly not been considered: The enforced isolation of two very involved parents from their young children.

The call in the early afternoon hadn't been from Sophie, as both he and Laura had assumed, but from Melina. A small accident, she'd informed them, at the birthday party. Olivia had tired of the bounce house and had joined some of the older children at the party on the family's trampoline. Well, a tiny three-year-old jumping alongside of eight, nine, and ten-year-old children had ended predictably bad, with Livvie taking a tumble right off the side of the contraption.

"Frances and Donald are meeting us at Cedars," Lina had informed them. "A bump on the head and a sore wrist," she'd gone on to explain Livvie's injuries. "Nothing more than a few bruises, I'm sure, but I'd rather be certain."

"Melina, ask for Dr. Kerr. Dr. Mark Kerr. He's Chief of Emergency Medicine," Laura had instructed. "Tell him she's our daughter. Do you understand?"

The conversation had been brief, given Lina was calling as she navigated weekend traffic through Los Angeles. Certainly, Olivia hadn't seemed any worse for the wear, complaining as she'd been from the backseat that she wished to go back to the party, but that didn't remove the fact their child had been hurt and they'd no way to get to her to reassure her… and themselves.

The light that had been in Laura's eyes only a few short minutes before disappeared. He glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time in the hours since they'd received that first call. Six hours and twenty-three minutes, to be precise, and the call in the interim had been of no comfort.

"Laura?" Frances called through the fuzzy connection between the hospital payphone and the remote mobile phone. "It's Frances."

"Frances? How is she? How is Livvie?" Laura had inquired anxiously.

"Now, Laura, I don't want you to worry," Frances had forewarned. "Danny and Laurie Beth have both had greenstick fractures due to a fall—"

"Fracture!?" Laura had all but shouted into the phone, as she sat down heavily on the coffee table behind her. Remington plucked the phone from her hand.

"Frances? It's Remington. How serious is it?" he asked, struggling to keep his wits about him as Laura dropped her face into her hands.

"Dr. Kerr said it's only a partial break, Remington," she reassured in a calm that was the antithesis of Frances normal reaction to strife. "He's recommending who he says is the best pediatric orthopedist in LA. She'll need to be seen Monday morning to have a cast put on."

" _A cast?_ " he drew out the words in disbelief. Behind him, Laura groaned her dismay. "Frances, I need to speak with Melina."

"She's in the room with the girls…" she paused, then continued in a rush, "Livvie's doing fine. She thinks the whole thing is adventure." Something in her tone made him take notice.

"And Sophie?" Laura dropped her hands from her face, and vaulted to her feet, stepping around him to watch his face.

"This all may have been a little too much for her, I'm afraid," she answered, reluctantly. "She won't let either Olivia or Melina out of her sight. I know you and Laura need your time together, and I hate to be the one to throw a wet blanket on your vacation, but I really think you and Laura should consider coming home."

"Which is why I need to speak with my sister," he answered, trying to hold on to his patience.

"Oh, Dr. Kerr's signaling he needs to speak with me. We should be released in the next hour or so, if you…"

"Frances…"

"...want to call Melina then…"

"Frances…" he tried to cut in, in a little more desperately.

"I really have to go. Call…"

"Frances!"

"…in an hour."

He'd been left with a dead phone in his hand, and dragging a hand through his hair. If he had to lay odds on it, Frances wasn't part of Mildred's kidnapping scheme or she would know they were unable to call _anyone._

And since that call? They could only wait. Laura had paced and prowled, until he'd finally gotten her to remain idle when he convinced her to let him have a look at her ribs. He'd winced as he danced his sensitive fingertips along her ribs, watching intently for each flinch. In the end, he'd had to agree: a couple of cracked ribs, not broken, and some very deep contusions that would take time to heal.

A search of the house had failed to produce nary a thing that would be sufficient to support her ribs. In the end, he dug through his suitcase and pulled out a grey t-shirt, then commenced with tearing it into strips.

"What are you _doing?"_ she demanded to know. She had a fondness for that particular t-shirt, as it was one he often wore around the house on lazy evenings and weekends. It had aged just enough that it was almost buttery soft, and there was something to be said for her cheek lying against it, while she appreciated his spicy, earthy scent.

"We didn't have first aid kits lying about on the streets," he shrugged. "We learned to make do with what we had when a bit of patching up was needed. This will do for now."

He knotted the strips together, then began wrapping her ribs, taking care the knots didn't lie along tender areas. The entire experience coupled with their argument of the morning and waiting on the phone to ring, seemed to take their toll on her, and she'd curled up on the bed, phone in hand, to take a nap.

He'd dallied about the house for a bit, prepping the veal for that evening's meal, preparing the salad, slicing vegetables, making sauce. After, he'd considered returning to his Chandler novel, but, in the end, the lure of Laura's slim form begging to be nestled against was irresistible.

When he'd awakened, she was gone, a search of the house eventually leading him to the doorway where he now stood. Despite his uncertainty if he'd be welcomed, he was drawn to her. He took a seat next to her, wedging himself between a pylon and her, then, mimicking her position, slipped a hand around her waist. He closed his eyes when she leaned back against him, laying her hand over his. He allowed the silence to linger until she was prepared to speak. Resting the back of his head against the pylon he simply enjoyed the togetherness that only two short days before had been a non-option.

"Do you agree with Adams?" she finally asked. A loaded question, if ever there was one, in his estimation. The wrong answer could pitch them into an argument or send her stalking off.

"I think," he answered cautiously, "Given the questions he asked of me, and from what I read in the literature he provided, that it's a possibility." He gave her waist a gentle squeeze. "But, I think it's your opinion that matters most, don't you?" She fell silent again, considering the question as she toyed with his wedding band.

"Two days ago, I thought he was out of his mind," she admitted, reluctantly. "But now? I don't know." She released a frustrated breath. "I don't _feel_ like myself. I haven't in a long while." The admission tasted like vinegar against her tongue. "I had thought it was because of you, believing that you'd lost interest, were having an affair with Felicia. It made sense. The idea of losing—" she waved her empty hand towards the sea, a meaningless gesture to some, but one which he understood the message of, "It made _sense_ , how I was feeling. But if you're telling the truth," she gave the hand in hers a reassuring squeeze, "and I believe you are, why don't I feel any better? In here," she pressed their joined hands to her heart, "I want to take you upstairs, to make love with you, until we can't move. But as much as I want to do that, I can't find…" She frowned, unable to find the words.

"Your body won't do the things your heart wants to do?" She gave a quick, soft laugh, immediately understanding the reference.

* * *

" _ **We're not dancing."**_

" _ **You know the old song, 'My Heart Won't Do the Things My Feet Want to Do'?"**_

" _ **I think you have that reversed."**_

" _ **Not tonight I don't."**_

* * *

"Yes," she answered simply.

"I would say that bodes well for our future." She gave her head a small shake.

"I'd like to think so, but I'm just so…"

"Tired?" he suggested.

"Yes, damn it," she said heatedly, feeling she was a failure in that alone. Her boundless energy had helped her build an Agency, had once fueled her to protect him at what often seemed like every turn… not to mention fend him off. "You've read the literature. Is that part of it?" _Back in the minefield, old sport._

"It is," he confirmed, then hesitantly added, "As is lack of libido." She blew out a breath.

"What else?" _Wrong adage, old sport. More like out of the frying pan into the fire._

"Perhaps it would be best if you read the brochure when we get home, hmmm?" he hedged.

"I don't want to read about it," she refused. The man had a nearly eidetic memory when it came to things he truly cared about, and she knew he could recite the entire contents of the brochure if he so chose. "I need to know." He drew his free hand through his hair and nodded rapidly.

"Feelings of guilt or inadequacy," he began to tick off, while she tallied checkmarks in her head, her hand tightening around his almost to the point of pain, "Lack of interest in those things you once enjoyed, sleeping more than you normally do, crying more often than normal, lack of appetite, fatigue." He paused, forced a smile into his voice. "Short of temper – although how we'd determine your temper is shorter than normal… Oompf," he sucked in a short breath as a playful elbow caught him in the stomach. "As I said…" he drawled. Her shoulders slumped against his chest, the lightness of the moment dissipating.

"I don't know what to say," she said in a defeated voice he'd never heard her speak in before. "I'm sorry doesn't seem ade—"

"Sorry?" he cut her off, stunned. Of all the things he thought he might hear, chief among those unequivocal denial, an apology was not even amongst the host of options."Laura, if you've this… _postpartum depression…_ there's not a thing you could have done to cause it or to prevent it from happening. According to Adams, it's caused by a combination of biological and environment factors, most notably a hormonal imbalance that can occur after the birth of a child."

"Then why do I feel guilty, like I've failed?" she wished to know.

"All part and parcel of the issue at hand, I'd say," he reasoned, pressing his cheek against the side of her head. "Laura, whatever it is that's going on, we'll get through it just the same way we always have." She shifted slightly to the side, so she could look up at him.

"Together?" she speculated.

"Together," he affirmed, leaving no question about it.

The smile she gave him was for him alone. His eyes flickered back and forth across her face, as he unconsciously moistened suddenly dry lips with his tongue. Unable to resist, he leaned down to taste her lips, then moved back to study her face again. What he found there had him bending back down and settling his lips over hers. That little frisson of excitement she'd felt since the first time they'd kissed raced down her spine, making her shift ever so slightly in his embrace. When her fingers whispered upwards over his chest to his shoulder, he grunted softly, intoxicated by the feeling of her touch. Cupping her cheeks in his palms, he adjusted the angle of the kiss, nipping at her lips, an entreaty that she open to him. She froze abruptly, pulled away.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have allow—" Her mortified apology screeched to a halt, when a pair of fingers landed on her lips.

"No apologies," he quietly commanded, a pair of piercing blue eyes leveling upon her. Dropping his hand, he resumed his prior position, drawing her back against him with an arm around her waist.

"I have to wonder if you truly think so little of me…" The comment drew a frown to her brow.

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I enjoy our antics in the bedroom…" he dropped his head forward, so his lips hovered near her ear, "… and I _do_ enjoy them…" he added in a husky undertone, before laying his head back against the pylon, "If you do recall, I was once quite proficient at abstinence." The remark earned him a low, smug, snicker, as he'd hoped it might. "In truth, there's a certain appeal to the idea of courting the perpetually frustrating Miss Holt once more," he mused.

"The impossible challenge?" she remarked lightly, relaxing against him. Closing his eyes, he lifted his brows.

"I suspect you always will be. Although, in this particular instance, I have what might be considered an unfair advantage." She lifted his hand from her waist, stroked his fingers, his palms.

"Oh?"

"This time, I _know_ all your _secrets_ …"

"And intend to exploit them?" she asked, laughingly.

"Most assuredly." He stroked the back of a pair of fingers down her arm, then held an open palm in front of her. "Do you think I might…" She stared at her engagement ring and wedding band, lying in his hand.

"I think you should," she answered, holding up her left hand. He slipped wedding band, then engagement ring over her finger. Drawing her hand upwards, he brushed his lips across her knuckles.

"As it should be," he murmured, tangling their fingers together and returning joined hands to her waist. She nuzzled her head against his shoulder in response.

"Yes," she agreed. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, as she prepared to touch on a matter which had been left unresolved. "Alright, let's have it. Exactly what does Felicia want from you this time?" She felt it against her back when he flinched, but when he answered his response was impressively calm, measured.

"She swiped a painting from O'Shaunnessy's client. In exchange for… retrieving… it, she won't inform him where I can be found."

"And where exactly is this painting now?" He heaved a heavy sigh.

"On loan to the LA Municipal Gallery." She nodded her head once.

"I see. " And she did. "And O'Shaunnessy's current location?"

"Dublin or London, I imagine," he speculated.

"I find it hard to believe," she noted thoughtfully, "That given the number of occasions Remington Steele had made the headlines in both of those countries, that O'Shaunnessy is unaware of _who_ and _where_ you now are." He stiffened behind her and regarded the side of her head, wide-eyed. The thought had never occurred to him. "Gut tells me O'Shaunnessy poses a risk to Felicia not to you." She shrugged a lazy shoulder. "But, in the end, it doesn't matter…"

"As she'll simply threaten to expose me herself should I not do as she demands," he finished the thought for her.

"Yes. But if the painting is stolen from our client while being protected by our system…"

"The reputation of the Agency will face significant, possibly irreparable, damage," he concluded. "Yes, that thought has come to mind… repeatedly." She fingered the base of her throat, a sly smile lifting her lips.

"I think it's time to call in a favor from Louis Grummand, don't—"

The sentence was left incomplete, as she jolted from his embrace when the mobile phone beside her began to ring. Lunging for it, she scrambled for the button to connect the call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mommy!" Livvie greeted.

"Livvie," Laura breathed. "How are you feeling, baby?" Olivia flopped down on her back on her parents' bed and frowned.

"Thea Lina maded us leaved the party early," she complained.

"I heard," Laura commiserated. "How's your arm, Livvie Bee?" Livvie studied her wrapped arm as though considering it.

"Okay," she drew out the word, as though offended the appendage had made her leave the party early. "I jumped-id high on the trampine, Mommy," she offered proudly.

"Trampoline," Laura corrected, accepting the arm wasn't a matter of importance to Livvie. "I wish I had been there to see…"

It seemed, however, Livvie's view had changed by the time Remington greeted his little daughter.

"Da, I hurted my arm," she pouted. A smile quirked at the corner of his lips, as he'd understood the gist of her conversation with her mother.

"So I heard. How does it feel, a stór?" She stuck her lip out in a pout.

"I don't liked this thing," she offered, picking at the wrap. His brows drew together as he tried to ascertain what she meant. _Ahhhh._

"The bandage?" Beside him, Laura rolled her eyes. Of course Livvie would share the details with her Da.

"Yes," she drew out mournfully.

"I see. You're just like Mommy right now, then, aren't you?" Livvie stilled on the bed, her curiosity aroused.

"I am? Does Mommy have a bandid too?"

"Band-age," he enunciated. "And yes, she does."

"Did she falled, too?" Remington pursed his lips, his eyes flickering too Laura then away.

"In a manner of speaking, yes…"

As chatty as Olivia had been with Remington, Sophie had been remarkably closed mouth, answering his questions in one to two words, at most. It was Laura's turn to smirk in his direction, when she took the phone from him.

"Hi, sweetie," she greeted their oldest daughter, warmly. "How are you doing?" On the bed next to Olivia, Sophia signed forlornly.

"Will you come home today?" Sophie inquired in a hesitant voice.

"Not today, but very soon. I promise you. Did you enjoy the party?"

"I don't like the 'ospital," the little blonde shared instead.

"The _hos_ pital," Laura sounded out. "They can be scary places, huh?"

"Yes," Sophie breathed.

"It's sometimes hard to remember hospital help people, like they helped me, then Olivia today," Laura comforted. "Dr. Kerr helped Livvie today didn't he?"

Laura spent several minutes speaking with Sophie, offering her what assurances and comfort she could over the phone, her frustration mounting as they spoke. It was apparent that her instincts Sophie wasn't prepared for this type of separation had been dead on. Remington watched as the strain around her eyes reappeared, and she finally reached for her brow. Despite the cheery voice she presented to Sophia, the conversation was taking a toll on her. As she prepared to say her goodnights, he held up a finger. She gave him a quizzical look.

'Lina,' he mouthed.

"Sophie, sweetie, remember, if you need me tonight, all you have to do is tell Thea Lina to call," Laura reminded her. "Your Da and I love you very much and we'll talk to you as soon as you wake up in the morning, alright?"

"Okay," Sophie drew out the word with no little reticence.

"Da needs to speak to Thea Lina. Can you ask her to come to the phone, please?"

"Okay." She could hear rustling as Sophie climbed down from the bed, and ran into the nursery. With a shrug, she handed the phone to Remington.

"Hello?" Lina greeted. He didn't bother with the niceties.

"Lina, we've had enough of this nonsense. While you and whomever you've been conspiring with had your hearts in the right place, separating us from our chil—"

"Xen, I spoke with Mildred as soon as Olivia was released from the emergency ward," she interrupted. "All the arrangements have been made. The pilot should be arriving in the next hour or so." The announcement caught him sufficiently off guard that he found himself at a loss of words. Clearing his throat, he managed three short words.

"We'll be ready."

* * *

The Steele's stepped through the front doors of Casa Malaga at nearly midnight on Saturday evening. Upon hearing the news the pilot was on his way to return them home, Laura and Remington had made a quick dash through the house, cleaning up after themselves, before packing, then taking their luggage to the dock. Still, by the time the plane had arrived, they'd flown to LA, then had navigated Saturday evening traffic through LA to Redondo beach, more than five hours had passed from the time he'd spoken to Melina.

Who, incidentally, approached them warily as she stepped into the hallway from the family room. She hoped it boded well in her favor that their heads were bent towards one another as they spoke in low tones, and her brother escorted Laura towards the family room with a hand on the small of her back. It wasn't until Xenos approached her, his eyes devoid of anger, that she knew some relief.

"Σας ευχαριστούμε, μικρή αδελφή," he told her, close to her ear, as he embraced her hello then bussed her upon the cheek. With a wide smile, she returned the embrace.

"Αναλάβει τη φροντίδα του κάθε άλλο," she admonished, quietly before they stepped away from one another.

"Κάνουμε πάντα, στο τέλος," he noted with a meaningful look as Lina and Laura exchanged hugs as well.

"The children?" Laura inquired.

"Sleeping soundly. Olivia and Sophia chose to sleep in Livvie's room this evening, while Holt sleeps in the nursery." She waved both hands towards the family room, where the stairs to the second floor were located. "Go. We can speak in the morning."

They didn't need further prodding, anxious as they were to check in on the children. On the way home from the airport, they'd briefly entertained the idea of waking the girls. In the end, they'd decided the girls could simply discover them by surprise in the morning. As such they dropped their luggage in the hallway outside of Olivia's door, then walked into her room with the stealth of two people who were used to sneaking about in the night. Pained looks were exchanged at the sight of Livvie's tiny limb encased in a rather large bandage; bedding was tucked in; foreheads were kissed; and, a baby monitor was turned on. In their bedroom, the luggage was again set down, this time in favor of checking in on their infant son.

Her breath caught in her throat when she peered over the crib rail. It seemed in the two days they'd been gone, he'd grown to look even more like his father, with his fair skin, the shock of black hair, the full lips and the long dark lashes lying on his cheek. Remington would have still been with Aislynn at Holt's age, yet by the time their son was able to sit, his father would have already begun the journey of bleak, childhood days that were filled with uncertainty. She turned to that man, and rested her head against his shoulder.

It was in that moment that she truly believed, for the first time, that everything was going to be alright.

* * *

Sometime during the early morning hours, Remington woke to find Laura wrapped around him. They'd fallen to sleep on their sides, his arm around her waist, one of his legs between hers, and his face pillowed in her hair. Her ribs must be feeling much better with the aid of the compression bandage he'd wrapped snuggly around her ribs before they'd gone to bed, for her head lay beneath his shoulder, a leg was slung over his hips, and an arm was splayed over his chest.

She must have sensed him staring at her, for she tilted back her head and blinked bleary, questioning eyes at him.

His heart stumbled. He cupped the side of her face in his hand.

"My God I've missed this," he told her gruffly. "You. I've missed you." Her lips lifted in a drowsy smile.

"I've missed you, too," she whispered, then snuggled back against him and returned to her dreams.

* * *

A dark-haired little girl, her long hair mussed from a night of sleep, poked her head out of her bedroom door and peered down the hallway in the direction of the guest room.

"Thea Lina?" Olivia called, hopefully. She frowned when her call went unanswered.

Lina had told the girls the evening before that they were to stay in their room and play quietly when they woke in the morning. Obediently, when they woke shortly after six, they'd done just that. But it was almost seven now, and they had been in their rooms _all day_ and still Thea Lina hadn't come to get them. Livvie's stomach growled again, reminding her that it was breakfast time, according to their normal schedule.

"Thea Lina," she tried again, this time a little louder.

In the master bedroom at the other side of the second story, Remington stirred. A smile lifted his lips at finding Laura still sprawled partly across him. Absently he stroked her silky hair, as bleary blue eyes stared at the ceiling while he tried to discern what had woken him. He chuckled low in his throat when he heard Olivia call for Melina a second time.

 _Ahhh, the little partners in crime are awake then._

He drew a firm hand up Laura's arm, then gave her a little soft, yet brisk, shake. The way she nuzzled her face into his shoulder said he'd roused her sufficiently, even as she tried to return to her dreams.

"I suspect we're about to have company, love," he murmured, then dropped a kiss against the top of her head. The fingers moving rhythmically against his chest confirmed she'd heard and was processing what had been said. Where she lay, she listened for what had alerted him. At the knock on what she presumed was the guestroom door, she laughed quietly, although she was unconcerned about moving from where she was.

Olivia knocked on the guestroom door, then ran back to stand in her doorway, waiting for Lina to appear. She harrumphed with aggravation when she and Sophie were still left quite to their own devices.

"Maybe Thea Lina's with the baby," Sophie suggested in a stage whisper. Olivia looked down the hallway towards her parents' room, then, in an affectation very much like her mother's, she plunked her fists on her hips and tilted up her chin, affronted that they'd seemed to have been forgotten about.

"I'm hungry," she pronounced, then left the room. She turned when Sophie remained steadfastly inside the room, only her head sticking out the door. "Come on, Sophie," Livvie encouraged. Sophie shook her head.

"Thea Lina said stay in our rooms," she reminded her sister. With an upward roll of her eyes, Livvie gave a woebegone sigh, wondering why it was she had to do everything. Turning back towards her parents' room, she stomped down the hallway, determined to let Thea Lina know it was time to free she and Sophie from their plush prison and feed them.

She stilled in the doorway of the master bedroom, eyes widening, mouth forming an 'o' when she saw who lay 'sleeping' in the bed.

"Da! You comed home!" she screeched happily, as she ran across the room to his side of the bed. Laura barely had time to roll away, before Olivia landing soundly on Remington's abdomen.

"Oomph," he grunted, as she knocked the wind out of him.

"Indeed we have," he grinned up at his little look-alike. Then grunted again when she threw herself down, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing hard.

"Well, don't I feel like chopped liver," Laura pretended to grouse, crossing her arms in front of herself. He merely smirked at her in response. He'd never hidden the fact that he enjoyed being Livvie's favored parent… most days.

Down the hallway, Sophie's ears had perked up when she'd heard Olivia shout Da's name. She'd waited, holding her breath, afraid to hope it was true. Then she heard Laura's melodic voice, and all rules were forgotten. She ran down the hallway, skidding to a stop in the doorway. Laura turned her head, then pressed up on an elbow and smiled at her tow-headed daughter.

"Hey, Soph," she drew out the words quietly.

"Mommy!" Sophie called out, as she hurtled towards the bed. Laura leaned over and caught Sophie in an embrace, dragging her up onto the bed, mindless of her screaming ribs. Sophie clung to her as though afraid if she let go, her mother would disappear again. "I missed you," she breathed.

"I missed you, too, sweetie," Laura crooned, rocking gently back and forth with her.

"Who feels like chopped liver now?" Remington intoned from beside her. This time it was she who turned and smirked at him, but the sheen of tears in her eyes had him on alert… and concerned. "Little Ladies Steele, it would seem we missed our trip to the market yesterday. So, off with you. Go pick out what you wish to wear, and I'll be straight along to help you dress."

"Okay, Da!" Livvie agreed, scrambling down from the bed and collecting Sophie before running down the hall towards their rooms.

His eyes barely flickered away from Laura's face. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek.

"What is it?" She knuckled away an escaping tear, laughed softly.

"It's the first time Sophie's ever called me by name, any name." She gave him an embarrassed look. "It's silly, I know." With a tender smile, he leaned over and bussed her forehead.

"Not silly, Laura," he told her, his blue eyes intent. "Human. You think I didn't feel much the same way the first time she called me Da? She only took so long to call you by name because it mattered… more." He dropped a kiss on her lips, then slipped out of bed to prepare for the day ahead.

Alone in the bed, Laura flopped to her back…

And smiled.


	40. Chapter 40: Sacrifice

Chapter 40: Sacrifice

They'd enjoyed a lazy day as a family together on Sunday: Laura and Remington playing with Holt on the playroom floor nearby where the girls played dress up; Laura coloring with the girls; Remington cooking with them while Laura fed and rocked Holt; and, in the middle of it all, the quartet of two adults and two small girls napped on the large hammock that had been installed under the roofed portion of the terrace for just such a purpose. It had been the perfect way for their recovery as a couple to continue forward.

Despite their schedules lying clear and empty at the Agency, Monday proved a busy day for Laura and Remington. After delivering Sophie to preschool, they'd taken Livvie to the orthopedist's office where she'd been fitted with a new, bright pink cast. A trip back to the preschool delivered Livvie to her classroom, where she excitedly shared her trophy for being daring with her classmates.

Another office visit followed, this time that of Dr. Adams, where, after a significant wait, they spoke at length with the doctor, trying to understand all they could about the postpartum depression Laura had just come to terms with. She was adamantly opposed to any form of pharmaceutical intervention, wanted the opportunity to overcome on her own. Given an association of nearly two decades with the woman before him, Adams tacitly agreed they could forgo the prescription… as long as in two weeks, when next he saw her, Laura was making forward progress, not backsliding. Her natural logic, he felt, would help assist her in discerning what emotions were real, and which were a product of the depression. He was insistent, however, that she focus on three key areas in her life which might help her achieve a quicker recovery: Regular meals, communication and reclaiming those things that mattered to her which had been left behind. She departed the office feeling more optimistic than she had in some time.

"Lunch?" he suggested from the passenger seat of the Explorer. His mouth watered as thoughts of antipasto, linguine in clam sauce and a bit of Chianti danced through his mind. Given Dr. Adam's warning pertaining to eating regularly, he felt he had better than even odds – for a change – of enjoying a decent meal, not made by his own hand. Laura pursed her lips and drifted her eyes skyward for a heartbeat before returning them to the road.

"I think I could eat," she agreed. He sat up a bit straighter at her agreement.

"Wonderful. Three blocks down, take a right. We'll just pop in to—" He'd missed the mischievous slant of her eyes towards him, then away.

"And I know exactly what I want…" She always had better than even odds that he'd willingly feed her whatever it was she was in the mood for, but was fairly confident today those odds were close to perfect. She almost laughed aloud when he looked at her, not even bothering to conceal his dread.

"Oh?"

"I was thinking pizza and beer."

"Casa Bianca or Pizza Buona?" She pursed her lips, thought about it. Buona's made a fantastic garlic pizza, all stringy mozzarella cheese topped with marinated tomatoes, fresh peppers and mushrooms. Shockingly, her mouth watered at the thought.

"Buona's," she answered with a sharp nod of her head. While pizza was never at the top of his list of preferred meals, if one were to partake of the fare, Buona's was the place to do it, in his opinion.

"Let's."

Lunch had been a pleasant enough affair, Laura even managing to eat a full slice of pizza and to start a second before tossing in the towel. Conversation had been easy, relaxed only turning at the end of the meal towards the more serious issue of Felicia.

Which was how he found himself standing in the elevator at the Rexford Palms, watching nervously as the read out indicated the second floor, third, fourth… He turned and stepped in front of Laura, an arm reaching around her waist and dragging her to him. His lips covered hers and he kissed her deeply, thoroughly. She staggered when he released her and blinked up at him, while a hand on her back steadied her on her feet.

"Should I ask?" Cupping her face in his palms, he kissed her again. She grasped his wrists to hold herself up on tiptoe. This time, when he ended the kiss, he studied her face and eyes. With a satisfied nod, he stepped back to her side, and took her hand in his. "Mr. Steele?"

"A reminder, should you need one," he explained with a quick smile, "That for nine years there has only been one woman I wish to share a bed with, and I can't imagine that will ever change." Lifting her hand, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles as the bell sounded on the elevator and the doors slid open. He held out an arm, then fell in step next to her side, a hand resting against the small of her back. When they reached the door of the suite, she indicated he should do the honors, and took a half step back to assure she wouldn't be seen through the peephole of the door.

Reaching up, he rapped on the door with a knuckle.

"Felicia," he called in a low voice meant to intimate he was trying to keep his presence concealed. The door swung open.

"You've been a naughty boy, Michael," she scolded, in a sultry tone. Laura knew the instant Felicia saw, then dismissed, her. The statuesque blonde wrapped her arms around Remington's neck and pressed herself against him, her lips covering his. Out of nothing more than a touch of priggishness, Laura made no attempt to intervene he as struggled to free himself from the barracuda. In her estimation, his discomfort was a small price to pay for trying to keep secret Felicia's presence in LA from her in the first place.

"Felicia," he warned, when he finally managed to wrest her way from him.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist another evening of passion," she hummed, drawing a hand through his hair. With a roll of her eyes, Laura decided she'd let him squirm enough.

"Save it, Felicia," she told the woman, coolly, shoving her way between them and stepping into the room. "Remington's no more having an affair with you than I am, and you'll be just wasting all our time trying to convince me otherwise." Taking off her fedora, she tossed it on the bed.

"Funny, I've never known you to have a guilty conscience, darling," Felicia disapproved, grasping his arm, her lips pouting.

"Laura and I don't keep secrets from one another, Felicia," he retorted, shedding himself of the woman. He crossed the room and leaned his backside against the dresser, questioning if he was a sufficient distance from the woman.

"How terribly… domesticated… of you," she sniffed with disdain. Crossing his arms, he nodded his head.

"Blissfully so, at that," he agreed.

"We have to be somewhere shortly," Laura stepped in, "So let's dispense with the games and get straight to the point."

"I'm sure I can imagine the content of what it is you've come to say," Felicia said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm out, you're in. We've played this scene out a time or two before, haven't we, Lisa?" Laura's shrewd mind read through the lines of what the other woman was saying, and she was speaking as much about her role in Remington's life as she was partnering the man on a heist.

"Yes, we have," Laura agreed, walking to the bed and picking up her fedora. "We'll be in touch with you no later than tomorrow night to let you know when we plan to make the move." She sat her hat down on her head and adjusted it. "In the meanwhile, stay away from the Agency and stay away from our home. If you don't, you can explain to O'Shaunnessy why you don't have the Renoir." Felicia's catlike eyes narrowed on Laura.

"And Michael? Shall I stay away from him as well?" Felicia questioned, as Remington walked across the room to join Laura as she strode towards the door.

"Mr. Steele's a grown man," Laura answered. "I don't tell him who he can and can't see. It's a matter of trust." She swung open the door, Remington following after her, until a hand clutching his upper arm stopped him.

"I see Lia iss still as tedious as ever," Felicia complained. As Remington watched his retreating wife's form, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Hmmmm, delightfully so," he hummed.

"I've never understood what it is you see in her." The statement was part pout, part honest confusion. His smile only widened.

"And I've often wondered what it was the she saw in me. That itself is the answer." In a moment of nostalgia he leaned forward and bussed her on the cheek. "Goodbye, Felicia."

As the elevator doors slid shut after he and Laura embarked, he swung her into his arms for another heated kiss.

"Now that," he smiled down at her when their lips parted, "Is me exploiting your secrets."

* * *

Laura did a double take when Remington walked into the family room.

"I'm warning you, Mr. Steele," she informed him, dryly, "If you tell me you're going to the gym, then I won't have a single doubt you're having an affair."

"Laura, please…" He eyed the girls, where they kneeled at the coffee table coloring, with horror in his eyes. She dismissed his concerns with a flip of her hand. Even if they were paying attention, they were too young to understand the implications of what she'd said.

"So, where are you going dressed like that?" she asked again, eyeballing his t-shirt, sweatpants and tennis shoes. It wasn't abnormal for him to lounge around the house in the former two, but the latter was a new touch. He reached for her hand, and pulled her up from the couch, as she looked at him questioningly.

"I believe what I'm about to do is referred to as, in American sport's analogies, 'Taking one for the team.'" He laughed, when she yelped as his hand came down on her bottom. "Go upstairs and get dressed, Mrs. Steele," he instructed, then gave her a disdainful lift of his brows, "You and I, are going for a run."

Her jaw fell open.

" _We're_ going for a run?" she asked disbelievingly. Her eyes fell on the girls again. "We can't—"

"Yes, we can," he corrected. "I altered Mirabella's schedule slightly this afternoon, after Sophie and I spoke, and she'll be staying with the girls Monday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday – at least until school is out – for an hour each of those evening swhile you and I get in shape." He thumped his abdomen with flattened hands, grimacing when he hit himself harder than intended. He rubbed absently at the offended area.

"And Sophie agreed?"

"She did. Off you go," he gave her a little shove. She glowered over her shoulder at him when his palm came down on a cheek of her bottom again.

He merely gave her a cheeky grin.

"Honestly, Laura, a man's got to have a bit of fun before sacrificing himself to the cause."

Laura's laughter followed her up the stairs, for running, to her husband, was something one should only engage in when it was necessary to save one's own hide.

That he was willingly doing so for her?

Well, that sent a trill of happiness straight to her heart.


	41. Chapter 41: Bye, Felicia

Chapter 41: Bye, Felicia

On Tuesday morning, the couple walked into the Agency in their typical matter: Enthusiastically debating the merits of Laura's plan, as Remington guided her through the door with a hand on the small of her back. Neither missed the look of apprehension on Bernice's face or the way Mildred, who'd just stepped out of her office, froze in place as Remington set Holt's carrier down on the floor in front of them.

"Et tu, Bruté?" Laura directed to Bernice with a pair of raised brows. Having already assessed the air between the couple, Bernice rested her chin in her palm, and gave her old friend a cocky smile.

"Well, someone had to do something," she answered. "It was beginning to feel like a place of business in here… just business." Laura's laughter rang out in the office, convincing Mildred it was safe to fully emerge from the safety of her doorway.

"Kidnapping, Mildred?" Remington drawled. "I still haven't fully forgiven you for the Auburn being returned to me in pieces some years back, and now you've arranged to have Laura and I kidnapped?"

"Drastic times, drastic measures," she quipped, then grew serious as she lay a hand against his cheek. "Are you two…?"

"The time alone was precisely what we needed," he reassured. "Thank you, darling." He leaned down and bussed her cheek. Giggling and blushing, she stepped towards the desk.

"What do we have, today, Bernice?" Laura asked, her mind already turning to business.

"Staff meeting at nine, a meeting with a new client – investigations – at ten, another at eleven – embezzlement. You," she pointed at Laura, "Appointment at the accountant's office at two, and you," she pointed to Remington, "Inspection of an installation at two, and a meeting with Monroe at the warehouse office at three-thirty."

"Alright," Laura acknowledged. "Mr. Steele and I are expecting Louis Grummand at eight-thirty. Let us know as soon as he arrives. If we haven't wrapped things up by nine, hold the staff meeting until we're done." Bending over, she picked up the baby carrier. Without missing a beat, Remington swiped the carrier from her, with a pointed look towards her ribs.

In their offices, Remington settled Holt in his swing and turned on the tape player so that soft lullabies filled the room while Laura dropped her purse and briefcase in her office.

"You remember Louis," Laura called from her office, picking up as though their conversation had never ended. In the nursery, he pursed his lips and shook his head.

"You must be thinking of your other partner and husband," he called back.

"Joanne Pitkins. The Conant Gallery," she reminded him, as he sat down at his desk and snapped open his paper, half listening. "You would have gotten lucky if Richie hadn't come back?" A crooked grin spread over his face.

 _Ahhhh, yes…_

* * *

" _ **How very**_ _ **bold**_ _ **you are, Mr. Steele. How would you like to hold another woman you've been waiting for?"**_

* * *

She'd been riding high on the adrenaline that often followed a daring heist, and had been particularly amorous that evening… irritated with him, even, as the _Bordeaux Panel_ had garnered his attention so fully that he'd initially brushed off her advances.

* * *

" _ **Laura,**_ _ **please**_ _ **. This is painstaking enough without that sort of distraction."**_

* * *

"Ah, yes, the _Bordeaux Panel_ ," he called back.

She rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air, in an 'of course, _that's_ what he remembers' motion as she walked through the break room into his office.

"Louis is the forger we were going to use," she reminded him.

"You were going to use," he corrected, lowering the newspaper to look at her. "I seem to recall the nervous Richie and I were busy trying to ransom three forgeries to Snyderman, Isuto and Haddon. Nasty lot."

"The _point_ ," she emphasized, as she perched on the side of his desk, "Is Louis is a master forger."

"And _my point_ was… no matter how expert the forger, there are certain niceties that cannot be altered or avoided, such as the time it takes for paint to cure," he argued. "We can't very well hang a wet forgery upon the wall of the gallery and expect no one to notice." Folding his paper in two, he dropped it onto the desk and studied her while she spoke.

"Talk to the man, that's all I'm saying," she replied.

"Tired?" he wondered, noting the dull sheen in her eyes. She gave him a wry smile, but accepted his outstretched hand, allowing him to coax her off the desk and onto his lap. She relaxed in his arms and laid the side of her head against his shoulder.

"Someone kept me up late talking last night." The roundabout answer was the best he'd get from her, he knew, and it was a milestone that she'd admit to even that much.

"Then perhaps a hot bath followed by a long massage are in order after the children are asleep this evening, hmmm?" he suggested. A thank you, she understood, for helping him through a personal crisis that was at the root of that late night talk.

"Sounds like heaven." She sat up as the intercom buzzed, and punched at the button.

"Yes, Bernice?"

"Louis Grummand is here to see you," Bernice announced. Laura stood, and straightened her skirt, smoothing her hands over the imaginary wrinkles.

"Send him in. Thanks Bernice." Disconnecting the line, she turned and faced her husband and partner. "Just hear him out, you may learn something." On his feet himself, he pulled on his jacket while snorting with derision.

"Somehow, I doubt that," he said in a snobby tone that matched that snort.

When Bernice showed the nervous, squirrelly little man into the office he was convinced he was correct.

* * *

"Yes, Felicia, Friday night… Laura and I have conducted numerous… retrievals… over the years, and _she's_ never once hung me out to dry… Yes, I'm quite certain… Good night."

Remington pushed the end button on the portable phone and laid it in the cradle of Laura's bedside table to charge, as Laura emerged from the bathroom, draped in his pajama top, while rubbing a towel over her wet hair. He swallowed hard at the sight of her and his gut clenched with that familiar aching pang of need. If she spent a lifetime wearing nothing but his pajama shirts, dress shirts and t-shirts, he'd be a happy man. He'd never accomplish anything… but he'd be happy. In his eyes there was never a lovelier sight than she clothed such with her curly hair left free and natural… and she was his, as the clothing she wore attested.

A certain impertinent part of his anatomy reminded him that it wasn't he with a lack of libido. _That won't do either of us any good_ , he sternly advised his nether region.

"How did it go?" she wondered, as she climbed up on the bed.

Out of habit, she stripped off his shirt before stretching out on her stomach. He nearly groaned aloud. And she'd believed he'd lost his desire for her? He searched his mind for the tools he'd used during their four-year-long frustratingly chaste on-again-off-again romance, and came up with nothing short of an ice cold shower. He forced his mind to less pleasant thoughts: Legwork, Atomic Man marathons, all three Holt women in the same room together, being blackmailed by ex-lovers…

"Remington, how did it go with Felicia?" she repeated, oblivious to the way her partially nude form, despite the nasty bruises along her side, was affecting him.

"Fine, fine," he finally replied, somewhat absently, as he shifted to sit next to her. His hands reached for her shoulders.

"And you made the other call?" He thought of all the men he'd wished to pulverize merely for looking in Laura's direction. _Platt, Smith, and Smith again! Phillips, Vivyan, Beamis. Beamissssssss_ , he silently hissed with disdain. _What she ever saw in that man…_

"I did." She squirmed beneath his hands trying to get more comfortable. _Good God, woman, enough of that already!_

"Everything will be done on their end?" _Spaghetti! Aunt Laura's special spaghetti, every night for a month,_ he thought with some desperation. How he was still able to speak coherently…

"It will take a bit of fast footwork, but it should all be done in time." She sighed softly as a muscle was relieved of its tension. _Having a fine laugh at this one, aren't you Daniel?_ He could almost hear the man laughing as he shifted uncomfortably beside her. If there were a God in the Heavens…

"Olivia has a boyfriend," she mused, aloud.

Well, that took care of what _had been_ his primary issue, as the blood rushed north to his heart. Those were words no man wished to hear spoken with their daughter's name attached. His hands forgot to move and he swore he was a bit lightheaded.

"Laura, those are words that I hope not to hear pass your lips again for _at least_ another twenty-years," he quipped, trying for a light tone. Then 'Da brain' took over. "The hell she does," he nearly bellowed, "She's only _three_ , for pity's sake!" She snickered quietly at his outrage, then realized a split second later, this was too good to pass up.

"Nevertheless, she does…and he's an 'older man,'" she added, sweetening the pot. She had to smother a laugh when his hands twitched against her back.

"How much older can he bloody well be? It's preschool!"

"He'll be four next month. He told Livvie she has pretty eyes." He scowled at that tidbit.

"Are you certain he's three? What business does a tyke that age have coming up with a line like that?" he scoffed.

"Maybe it wasn't a line. Livvie _does have_ pretty eyes," she argued. He couldn't debate that.

"Well, yes, she does," he agreed, "But that aside, this needs to be nipped in the bud, Laura. Tomorrow you simply need to sit Livvie down and tell her she is far too young to have a _boyfriend_." Believing he'd arrived at a judicious answer, and patting himself on the back for remaining calm, he relaxed and returned his attentions to the massage.

"I can't do that," she refused, biting on her lower lip, knowing she was about to deliver the knockout blow. "She'd be crushed! After all, they're getting married on the playground at recess tomorrow and she's so—"

"Wa… Wa.. W-… Wait!" he finally managed to spit out. "Did you say they're getting _married?"_ he asked incredulously. She'd known the instant his hands had stilled again that her words had registered with him. Massage forgotten – not to mention the effect she'd been having on him only a minute before – he fell to his back on the bed and stared at the ceiling while rubbing at his chest. "I think I'm having a heart attack, Laura," he bemoaned. Her laughter bubbled over as she pushed up to her knees and reached for the discarded pajama shirt.

"So much for my massage," she noted drolly, only to laugh again at the stricken look on his face. "It's only a _preschool_ marriage, Mr. Steele."

"Only?!" he sputtered.

"They make up some nonsense vows like agreeing to share their cookies each day, share a little kiss—"

"A kiss? _A kiss!?_ " Reason and any remaining vestiges of calm left the building. "What kind of den of inequity have we sent our children to?" he demanded to know, rubbing at his face, trying to ignore the spots parading across his vision. "Children dating and _marrying_ on the playground? _Kissing_ on the playground?! Tomorrow, we'll find a proper school for the girls—" She laughed aloud at that, cutting off his words again, and earning a heartfelt glare from the man who felt she was not showing the appropriate level of concern.

"We're not taking the girls out of school," she dismissed when her laughter stopped. She eased down next to him and lay her head on his shoulder. "This is all a normal part of childhood. Livvie and Sophie will have so-called 'boyfriends' in preschool, summer camp, elementary school, junior high school—"

"Tutors. We could hire tutors, as Daniel did for me," he suggested, a little bit too sincerely for her taste.

"We're _not_ taking the girls out of school," she repeated, firmly. To take the edge off her words, she stroked his side with a comforting hand. "Don't worry, Mr. Steele. In a week or so, Livvie will be sharing her cookies with another boy." She rolled away from him, turned off the bedroom light, then returned while he looked at her as though she'd grown a second and third head.

"That was _not_ the least bit comforting," he groused.

"Maybe not," she agreed with a shrug, and the pat of a hand against his chest. "But it _is_ reality. We have two beautiful, engaging little girls. You may as well get used to boys clamoring around them now, because when they are fourteen and dating—"

"Fourteen!" he exclaimed, aghast. "Have you any idea what's on the mind of a fourteen-year-old boy? A fourteen-year-old girl is too easily swayed with a good line, a few words of affection—"

"Speaking from experience, are you?" she asked dryly, with a roll of her eyes.

"Well, yes. Yes, I am. I _was_ that fourteen-year-old lad who—" She held up a hand.

"Spare me the details," she cut him off. "What age were you thinking the girls should be allowed to date?" While she hadn't intended for the conversation to turn towards pertinent questions on raising their children, since the opportunity was here…

"How old were you when we met? Twenty-six?" He nodded in his approval. "By then you were mature enough… sensible enough… to keep me out of your bed no matter how valiant my efforts to—"

"Mature? Sensible?" she laughed. "That's not the descriptors I seem to recall."

"Nevertheless, twenty-six seems—"

"Sixteen," she replied emphatically. "No one-on-one dates, no boy-girl parties, until their sixteen. It's the best offer you're going to get." _Sixteen_ , he considered. A good twelve years for Sophie, thirteen for Livvie. In his mind, it will still far too soon.

"It may well be the death of me," he lamented, drawing her laughter again.

"I have every faith that you'll survive," she placated, with a quick stroke of her hand against his chest.

"So long as you teach them the iron will that kept me at bay—"

"For four, long, years," she finished for him, amusement threading her words. "I'll do my best. So, was I right about Louis, or was I right?" He forced his mind to the subject now at hand.

"Mmmm," he agreed. "With a few phone calls I could set him up for life."

"Mr. Steele," she drew his name out in warning…

* * *

Laura had enjoyed a good run of an elevated mood, but despite her upbeat disposition when they retired on Tuesday evening, she woke exhausted, inexplicably despondent and short of temper the following morning. By that evening, Remington was at a loss as to what to do. Attempts to converse were met with a gesticulation of the hand not to bother; a joke to try to ease her temper, was greeted with a snarl; and, any attempts to draw her into his embrace were firmly rebuffed.

Logically, she understood that there was no factual basis for her mood, and that made it all the worse. She had no control over it, instead felt like she was being dragged through a quagmire of dark thoughts and bleak despair, fully against her will. She wanted to grab onto Remington, cling to him for dear life, which made it all the more impossible to do. She devoted all her energy to not allowing the children to pick up on her angst. It was… exhausting and by the time the children were put to bed for the evening, she'd known only one thing: the need to escape before she inflicted herself upon her hapless husband, or, God forbid, one of the children should they awaken.

She took to the beach below the house walking endlessly, trying to will logic and emotion to marry, to no avail. Finally, she sank to the sand, wrapped her arms around herself, and allowed the tears to flow.

From above, Remington gnawed at a thumbnail. He'd stood there for an hour-and-a-half, maybe two, waiting for Laura reappear. And now that she had, he felt utterly helpless, afraid his intrusion would make things all the worse for her. But to stand there was to leave her to suffer through it on her own, and _that_ he simply did not have it in him to do. Thus, he hoped for the best as he traipsed down the steps and across the sand, taking a seat beside her. With a heart that ached for her, he tentatively stretched an arm around shoulders, offering her solace if only she'd accept it. When a pair of damp, miserable brown eyes lifted to him as tears welled, then fell, he tugged her to him.

"Laura," he said her name, hoarsely.

"I'm sorry, Remington, I'm so sorry," she apologized, burying her face into his neck, her own shoulders shaking from the effort of her tears. Shifting until his legs were on either side of her, he drew her fully into his embrace and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

"You've nothing to be sorry for, love," he refuted, tightening his arms around her. "I just wish you'd trust me enough to lean on me when you need to," he admitted. Her face scrunched up, unseen.

"This isn't your burden. You didn't sign up for this, you didn't-"

"My _burden_?" he asked, flummoxed by the word, the idea. "My God, Laura, how many times have you fought my battles? How many times have you done whatever was needed to keep me safe from harm? Let me be there for you, as you've always been there for me." She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt at the back of his shoulders, as if holding on.

"I don't understand," she lamented. "I was fine yesterday, just fine. Nothing's happened since then. Rationally, I understand there's no reason to be angry, there's no reason for me to feel like everything's about to fall apart. But it just… swallows me up… and it takes _everything I have_ not to let the staff, clients… the girls and Holt sense something's _wrong_. Then there's just nothing _left._ " She stopped speaking, her sobs coming to shuddering halt, although her hands continued to hold on. "I think I have to take the medication Adams prescribed. I don't think I can do this on my own. What does that say about me?"

"Not that you're weak, if that's what you're thinking." He stroked a hand rhythmically up and down her arm. "For Laura Holt Steele to admit she cannot control everything? If anything it speaks to how strong you are." Already exhausted, she was suddenly bone weary. Her hands dropped from his shoulders and she drew her arms to herself with a sigh, staying within the circle of his arms.

"I don't feel strong," she admitted, regretfully.

"Then it's a good thing I'm here to help you carry the load."

* * *

On Thursday evening, Laura and Remington squatted beneath a window on the side of the LA Municipal Gallery. They had given consideration to circumventing the security system in the most convenient way: by disabling the zones they'd pass through during a 'routine' system check. In the end, they'd agreed the risks were simply too high. If the forgery was discovered during the twenty-three hours it hung in the gallery, then suspicion would instantly fall upon the Agency should it be discovered the system was partially disabled. No, it was best to trust he knew the system he'd designed to keep thieves, like the one he once was, out.

His eyes slanted towards her and she could feel them resting on her as she unpacked the climbing hook, ascensions and cord from out of the backpack she carried. She looked at him from under her lashes.

"I'm alright," she assured.

Pumped up by a combination of a little adrenaline and the thrill of performing one of the more elicit tactics they'd employed for the job since he entered her life, there was a glimmer in her eyes that had been missing, for the most part, over the last thirty-six hours. Seeing that light, he nodded his head, then unable to resist, cupped her neck in his hand and drew her in for a quick kiss. Tasting his lips when the kiss ended, he looked at her one last time, then nodded again.

"Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

Clipping the climb hook to the rope, he stood, then after carefully assessing their surroundings, pitched the hook onto the roof. Giving it a firm tug, he heard the 'clink' at the hook grabbed purchase, then tugged again, testing its hold. Silently, Laura placed the ascensions in his hand. Once attached he gave her a look that clearly said 'wish me luck' then began the upwards climb. Successfully reaching the top, he peered over the lip of the roof and indicated she should begin. Attaching the second pair of ascensions, she navigated the climb with care. When she neared the edge of the roof, he leaned down and offered her a hand the rest of the way.

"We need to secure this skylight once this is done," she commented in an undertone, as they jogged across the rooftop towards said skylight.

"Mmmm," he hummed his agreement. Kneeling beside it, he removed a cordless screwdriver from his own backpack, inserted the star bit, then began systematically removing the screws. Together, they shifted the glass and metal structure, exposing a hole through which they'd enter the museum. Retrieving the climbing hook, he secured it to a steel pipe, then lowered the rope through the hole. Tugging his black ski mask down, he secured a pair of infrared goggles over his eyes. "Wish me luck…"

She watched as he lowered his slim, lanky frame through the hole and disappeared. She paced the small area along the skylight for nearly twenty minutes, before a tug of the rope indicated he'd rerouted the infrared beams sufficiently enough to allow them to work. Slowly, she lowered herself downwards, his hands grasping her waist and setting her on the floor when she was within reach.

"We've still a bit of a dance ahead of us, but it's doable," he informed her. She glanced at the path ahead and noted the multiple beams still intact.

"I've always enjoyed a rollicking round of limbo," she answered, giving him a cheeky smile.

The work was arduous, making it all that much more enjoyable. The pair stepped over some beams, sidled beneath others, and slipped between parallel beams, each time passing backpacks and painting forward. The heat sensors around the painting were chilled, the Renoir removed and replaced with the forgery, then those beams were traversed again. The last step before pulling themselves upward through the skylight was stashing the painting safely away within the museum walls.

Returning the legitimate _Bal du Moulin de la Galette_ to Ryoei Saito was simply not a consideration in Remington's opinion, given Saito's threat to have the priceless, irreplaceable work of art cremated with him upon his death. Thankfully, Laura had concurred with that opinion… and the next: If given the authentic Renoir, there was every possibility Felicia would abscond with the painting, tucking it away until she found a buyer. The only solution, then, had been to replace the true Renoir with a masterful forgery. To do this, they'd need to convince Felicia – who would undoubtedly have a hired hand watching their exploits the following evening – that they'd stolen the original work of art. By the time Felicia discovered the trickery, she'd have to determine her next best course… but it would in no way involve Remington.

A complicated endeavor, for certain, but on Friday night when they spied a homeless man with an unusual interest in the building, they were assured all their extra steps had been well worth the effort.

As the elevator at the Rexford Palms glided upwards towards the eleventh floor, Remington noted the color in Laura's cheeks and the quiet look of accomplishment on her face. Much like the first time they'd taken this particular ride with one another, he turned and gathered her in his arms, although for very different reasons than before. There was no reason to provide a reminder that it was she he wished to be with. This kiss was a tribute to the renewal of their partnership, a partnership he'd missed terribly despite the fact it was his decision to step away. His hand remained against her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek as their lips parted.

"I've missed this, terribly," he admitted aloud.

She could have pointed out that it had been his choice to turn his back on their partnership.

She could have.

Instead, she chose to look him boldly in the eyes, and make an admission of her own.

"So have I." The smile that lit his face was worth the confession and she gladly folded herself against him when he drew her into a hug. They enjoyed the moment as the elevator car ascended, only stepping apart when the ding of the bell indicated they'd reached the floor.

Lesson learned – and taught – during their last visit to this particular suite, Laura positioned herself between Remington and the door, then knocked. The door swung open almost immediately, and Felicia's eyes flitted over Laura before settling on the package slung under Remington's arm.

"A successful endeavor, then?" she inquired, stepping back to allow the couple entrance. Remington tossed the painting carelessly upon the bed and waved his arm in that direction, while Laura crossed the room to lean her backside against the dresser.

"There's your Renoir, Felicia," he informed the woman, making certain his tone of annoyance conveyed the message that he'd long ago tired of her plots, ploys and blackmail. Felicia was unwrapping the painting before he finished speaking. A smile of satisfaction lifted her lips.

"I see you haven't lost your touch, Michael," she complimented, the sultry tone and the slant of her eyes meant only for him. Across the room, Laura rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I've a great partner," he replied swiftly, with a meaningful lift of brow to his wife, who in smirked at him in return.

"Oh, we used to have some fun, didn't we, darling?" Felicia reminisced, brushing her fingers down one of his arms."

"I'd a few fond memories…" he admitted, "…which have since lost their luster given more… recent … events," he answered, pointedly. "You've secured transport for the painting?"

"Secured storage in the cabin," she confirmed, her tone indicating her dissatisfaction with his previous answer. He held out a hand towards Laura. "Then I imagine our business here is concluded. Have a safe trip."

Laura joined him at his side, and they walked towards the door. As he pulled it open, she lay a hand against his chest.

"I need just a minute," his eyes flickered from her, to Felicia, then back again.

"I'll wait in the hall," he nodded, then stepped out of the room and closed the door.

"Have something on your mind, Lisa?" Felicia inquired, imperiously.

"It's _Laura_. And, actually, I do," she answered, fingering her throat. "The first time you appeared in LA, do you know what I thought of you?"

"I can only imagine," Felicia scoffed.

"I thought to myself," Laura continued as though Felicia had never spoken, "'She's not one of his usual big haired, empty-headed bimbos. She's not _his type_.'" Felicia gave a short laugh.

"If I recall, I said as much about you," Felicia mused.

* * *

" _ **I don't think you understand. Ours is purely…"**_

" _ **Oh, I understand, alright. He stood me up to steal the painting with you. Strange… You never struck me as his type."**_

* * *

"You did," Laura agreed. "But, in the years since, I've figured out a couple of things. Would you like to know what those things are?" Felicia flung out an arm.

"Oh, why not?" she agreed, in a bored tone, as though humoring Laura.

"I was right. You're not one of what was once Mr. Steele 'typical' flings," Laura observed. "You're intelligent, creative and possess a quick wit that he appreciates in the remarkably few people he has counted as a… friend" she used the word loosely, "…over the years."

"Yes, we were that," Felicia smiled, then added, "And so much more. Tell me, darling, does he still do that thing where-" Laura held up a hand to stop her.

"Don't even bother," she cut the woman off. "Which leads me to the first thing I've figured out: You may be remarkably intelligent, but you're not smart." Felicia's eyes narrowed upon her, insulted. "There is little that man out there wouldn't do for someone he considers a friend, even at great personal risk to himself." She fingered her throat again. "But he'll never allow someone else to choose what he's willing to risk."

"I suppose you're referring to yourself," Felicia speculated

"Yeah, I am, at least in part, although not wholly," Laura confirmed, thoughtfully. "The first time you were in LA, you used the life he was trying to build here to blackmail him," she ticked off her fingers. "In London, he was not only seriously injured when you sold him out to save _your_ neck, but then because of you, again, he was dragged, unwittingly, into an assassination plot which may have cost his Father his _life._ In Cannes, knowingly or not, you were willing risk _my life_ when you hoped to get me out of the way by intending to shove me into the arms of a madman. And this time? You threatened everything that matters most to him: The person he's fought hard to become, his reputation and, far more importantly, his marriage and family."

"One day you really must tell me how you managed to get Michael not only to marry you, but to have a child," Felicia commented with disgruntled curiosity.

"That actually takes us to the second thing I've figured out," Laura responded. "This time about myself." She paused, waiting to see if Felicia would bite.

"By all means," Felicia waved her on.

"I'm not an easy person to live with," Laura admitted. "I'm demanding, my temper constantly gets the better of me, my imagination can get away with me, and I hold him to high standards…" Her brow crinkled. "At times, impossibly high standards. I don't mind doing laundry, cleaning the house or washing the dishes, but I can't cook worth a damn and despise shopping of any kind. _But_ , there are three things he knows about me that makes up for my considerable shortcomings: I'll never use his past to manipulate or harm him." She advanced slowly towards Felicia. "I will never use his love, or his _trust_ , against him." She stopped when she was toe-to-toe with the other woman. "Above all, I will lay everything I have on the line and I will do _whatever it takes_ to keep him safe." She stepped away from the woman and walked towards the door.

"Should I consider that a warning, Lisa?" Felicia inquired, bemused. Hand on the doorknob, Laura turned to face the woman a final time.

"Consider it what you wish," she shrugged, "Because you won't be given another opportunity to threaten my husband or our family again." With a regal nod of her head, she turned, opened the door and walked out, drawing the door closed behind her.

Remington stood up from where he leaned against the wall, foot propped against it. As tempting as it had been to rest his ear against the door of suite, he'd managed to control the impulse.

"I imagine she's calling the airline right now," she replied.

"Should I ask what it was you said to inspire her?" he wondered, taking her hand in his and weaving their fingers together as they walked towards the elevator. Laura pursed her lips, as though considering the question.

"Oh, I may have pointed out I'll do what it takes to protect what's mine…" she slanted her eyes towards him, "…and that you're mine." Positively chuffed by her admission, a wide smile split his face.

"Said that, did you?" She rolled her eyes. She'd known before she said the words that she'd be stroking his ego by doing so, but she supposed he'd earned this one.

"I did," she confirmed, depressing the down button on the elevator call pad.

"Only took you nine years," he quipped. She lifted her brows at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, in a rare display of outward, public affection.

"To be fair, for the first four years I wasn't sure if you'd stick around." He pursed his lips and nodded his head.

"True, true," he agreed. "And now?" The bell dinged and the doors to the elevator slid open. Laura backed into the car, with her arms still around his neck. He followed, quite willingly.

"Oh, I think you'll be here when I wake up tomorrow morning," she answered, teasingly, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

"Progress, Mrs. Steele," he hummed approvingly. "Gives a man hope that there may come a day you refer to him as My Lord when we're—"

"Oh, that day will never come," she answered with absolute conviction, a smile lighting her face.

"Awwwww," he uttered his complaint.

As the elevator doors slid closed, she pressed up on her tiptoes, and touched her lips to his.

* * *

Remington pressed up on an elbow and reached over Laura to grab the ringing phone before she fully woke. He quickly stabbed at the 'talk' button, silencing it.

"Steele, here," he answered, his voice gravelly with sleep. Flopping back onto the bed, he rubbed at his face with a hand.

"Graham, here, Mr. Steele. Her plane departed LAX twenty minutes ago." A pair of bleary blue eyes glanced at the alarm clock. "According to the itinerary, her plane will be landing at 11:35 this morning." Remington did the quick math: 7:35 in the evening, on London time.

"Excellent job, Graham. Relay our appreciation to Warmack."

"Will do, sir,"

Disconnecting the line, Remington quickly made his next call, using a modicum of words. Laying the phone back in its cradle, he lay down and wrapped himself around Laura again, smiling when her hand found his, and she weaved their fingers together.

"She's on her way to London," he whispered near her ear. She hummed that she'd heard, while giving his hand a small squeeze.

"You called—"

"I did," he nodded against the top of her head. "Back to sleep, love."

"Mmm hmmm," she agreed. By the time she wriggled a little more closely to his body, she was, again, fast asleep.

* * *

Felicia startled when a hand grasped each of her arms.

"We'll be needing you to accompany us, Miss," the custom's officer on her right side informed her. She looked from one man to the other. She tried to shake them off.

"For what cause, may I ask?" she demanded to know.

"Smuggling," the officer on her left answered.

Felicia's skin blanched and her mind raced, as she went reluctantly with the men.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she feigned, innocence, "I've all the required paperwork permitting private transport of the painting."

"Papers that are currently under scrutiny as to their legitimacy."

Survival instincts told Felicia silence might be her greatest ally. She was escorted down several hallways, before a door was opened and she was ushered into a bleak room containing only a table with a chair on either side. To her credit, her only reaction was the slightest lift of a single brow when she saw who awaited her there.

"I'll assume you know who I am," the man seated with a hip cocked on the table asked.

"I do," she confirmed with a nod.

"Good. Then let's cut to the chase, shall we?" Leaning over, he lifted the painting up from where it leaned against the wall, and laid it on the table. "Smuggling." From his briefcase, he removed several pieces of paper. He lay down the first page, assuring it faced her. "Copies of your known passports." He lay down a second sheet. "A detailed list of your recent crimes." What color remained in Felicia's face drained away. He leveled a look upon her. "You really should take more care with the people you surround yourself with," he advised. "It was positively flabbergasting how many were willing to sell out one of their own for a few quid." He dropped the last paper down. "They say a picture is worth a thousand words…" She smothered a string of unladylike words. The picture showed her with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar, as she emptied a safe of its baubles. "And should that not impress upon you exactly what it is we know..." he leaned towards her " _And have_ …" he emphasized, reaching into the briefcase again. He slid the video tape across the table, "The video of you… relieving… Ryoei Saito of the _Bal du Moulin de la Galette._ "

"What is it that you want, exactly?" she asked. A lifetime of manipulating, conning and blackmailing alerted her that this meeting was not an arrest, but a deal being brokered.

"I'm offering a choice." A single finger slid the video tape a little closer to her. "Your issues with Saito and O'Shaunnessy resolved, once the painting is delivered or…" he indicated the papers "…a myriad of charges brought against you that will virtually guarantee you spend the remainder of the prime of your life behind bars." A pair of shrewd eyes swept over the man.

"And should I choose the former?"

"You'll leave here with the painting and the videotape, free of O'Shaunessy's threats against you. Both the Yard and Interpol will… look the other way on this little misdeed." He tapped his fingers upon the videotape.

"And the remainder?" she flicked a hand in the direction of the papers he'd laid out on the table.

"Safely tucked away where they'll never see the light of day, so long as you honor one condition." A pair of shrewd eyes examined him.

"Which might be?".

"You'll never so much as breathe my son's name again… any of them." The only thing icier than the gaze he leveled upon her was the sound of his voice, "My son's past was long ago... erased… if you will. I'll not allow that past to be used against him. Should you attempt to again, I'll see to it that you're not only fully prosecuted for your transgressions, but that you'll spend your time in the worst accommodations England has to offer. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," she clipped out, then picking up the video tape and painting turned to the door.

"Oh, Felicia," Thomas called to her, his voice suddenly far too casual for her liking, "I nearly forgot. Laura asked that I deliver a message to you." Turning, she raised an impertinent brow at him.

"And what might that be?"

"The legitimate _Bal du Moulin de la Galette_ has been safely returned to the Armstrong-Jones. It will be up to you to convince O'Shaunnessy and Saito that the forgery in your possession is quite authentic." Felicia's superior air vanished at the words. "Ah, and a few words from my son," he pretended to recall. "'You've lost your touch.'" Her spine straightened at the insult the words were intended to be. "Our business here is complete." Color infused her cheeks at the final insult… a brushing motion of his hand towards the door, dismissing her.

She took little pleasure in the echo of the door slamming closed behind her.


	42. Chapter 42: Am I a Princess?

_**A/N: This chapter included NC-17 content. If you are under 18 or uncomfortable with such subject matter, please continue to Chapter 43.**_

* * *

Chapter 42: Am I a Princess?

For the first time since the tradition had begun Remington and Laura decide to forgo their annual May trip to Catalina. While Sophie had, at last, grown comfortable at being left in Mirabella's care, the trip had seemed to come too quickly on the heels of their 'kidnapping', and the cast on Livvie's little limb served as a recent reminder of what little surprises life could have in store while they were away. Then, there was the other matter: Laura's libido was still lacking, and the pressure of their annual romantic pilgrimage would do little but serve as a reminder of what _she_ viewed as her current 'shortcomings.'

Much to Laura's irritation, the postpartum didn't simply fade away one night as she slept. Over the next months she'd have her good days, but it seemed the bad days far outnumbered the good ones. Of those bad days, some were manageable with the reminder that it would not always be this way, but then there were the bleak days of despair when it seemed nothing would ever be right again. But, as she completed one prescription and began the next, it had least become bearable, more often than not.

In the meantime, she learned to lean on the man that stood resolutely, steadily beside her. It hadn't been easy, the first few times when, in the midst of one of the darker days, she'd sought him out, her dull brown eyes telling the tale that her lips refused to speak. On those days, be it at the office or at home, he'd set aside all he was doing to draw her into the security of his embrace. Some days, she needed nothing more than the comfort of his steadfast presence, while on others she needed to hear the reassurances that the postpartum would one day fully release its grip upon her. On the latter of those days, it wasn't uncommon for him to decree they were clearing their schedules for the remainder of the day before he whisked her away for an afternoon of cotton candy at the pier, a walk along the beach, or sometimes to do nothing more than nap in the hammock on the terrace of their home.

The couple's plates were kept more than full. Nathaniel Thatcher, as it had turned out, was not the owner of the small island they'd been whisked away to, but did very much exist, as Monroe had explained to his old smuggling partner after his return from said island. A meeting was scheduled the Friday of the week of their return, and before it had ended, the Remington Steele Agency had been contracted to install news systems in stores without and to upgrade existing ones. Seventy-six total Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Kentucky Fried Chicken stores would require their attention. The Agency would be hopping for months to come as each store was evaluated, systems were installed or upgraded, and final testing was signed off on.

In May, Remington purchased the six homes Melina most favored for the Foundation, and a fundraising gala – the first ever for the Agency – was scheduled to take place two evenings prior to the Steele's departure for Ireland. Melina fussed endlessly about the attorney hired to handle legal matters for clients of the Foundation. He was pompous, overbearing, had an opinion on _everything_ , and, in general, made her each day a frustrating affair. During each of Melina's soliloquies regarding the man, Laura's eyes would slant toward Remington, their brown depths glimmering with amusement, as she fondly remembered the workmate whom had once driven her equally insane.

At the end of April, the Steele's, Pipers, Mildred and Rusty attended the girls' first ever ballet recital. A bevy of pictures had been taken at home and backstage. Much to Laura's mortification, Remington had hired a professional photographer to record the recital both to video and film.

"Now, Laura, these are the very moments we'll most treasure one day," he'd assuaged.

And, he'd been correct. Sophie had been selected for a small solo during the group dance, and she and Livvie had been selected to perform together as part of a series of short duets. While the Steele's, Pipers and Mildred along with Rusty had all been in attendance, copies of the video were sent to Abigail, as well as Thomas and Catherine, so they might enjoy the occasion although they'd been unable to attend. Often, during the performance, Laura's eyes were drawn to her misty-eyed husband, whose pride in his girls shone on his face for all the world to see.

The beginning of May heralded in swimming lessons in the backyard pool for Sophie, who'd shyly admitted to not knowing how to swim, while the end of May had marked the removal of the cast on Livvie's little arm. As for mid-May? With Mirabella's spring class schedule a wrap, those four day a week runs turned into seven, Laura's eyes often dancing with amusement as she waited for her husband's complaints to commence.

They never did. Much as his focus was upon creating Laura's favored dishes to tempt her appetite, so too was it on getting her healthy. And – not that he'd ever admit as much – he'd come to enjoy the early evening runs, which allowed them a rare moment of togetherness during the children's waking hours.

And, as the days turned into weeks, weeks into a month, then two, Holt continued to grow, looking even more like his father with each passing day.

Remington might have become irritated with his wife's continued reticence in the bedroom. Might have. But in truth, he was enjoying the challenge of romancing his wife all over again. There were the tiny kisses strung together along the back of her neck as she did dishes. The brush of his lips over her knuckles as a pair of intense blue eyes looked upwards through his lashes at her. Sweet, tender kisses stolen during the workday, kisses with a little more heat of a night. The casual stroke of his fingers over the back of a hand, against a cheek, along the small of her back. On Laura's better days, dancing in the living room or on the terrace of an evening. Each time a pair of dazed brown eyes looked up at him or he felt a tremor trickle through her body, a mental hash mark was added to his list of small victories.

But the greatest surprise of all during the passing of those Spring days? Well, that would belong to the moment Mildred had walked into the Steele's Memorial Day party, a diamond ring sparkling up from a certain finger on her left hand. Heartfelt congratulations had been given by all, but it was Remington who'd pulled his surrogate mother aside for a moment of privacy.

"Congratulations, Mildred," he offered, with a buss to her cheek, before a pair of concerned blue eyes gazed down at her. "I don't wish to be the one to put a damper upon the occasion, but don't you think this has come about a bit quickly?"

"Awww, Boss," she patted his cheek, "Rusty and I aren't spring chickens, you know. We don't have years to dance around one another as you and Mrs. Steele did. Sometimes, when something feels right, you simply have to go for it."

"But we hardly know anything about the man, other than—"

"Give me some credit," Mildred answered, plunking her hands on her hips. "The first thing I did when I got back from that cruise was a full background check on him. He's clean as a whistle." He had the manners to look contrite.

"I assure you, my concern was not from lack of confidence in either your abilities or intelligence," he apologized, "But because you mean a great deal to Laura, the children and I. You're family."

"Awwww, Boss, I know," she smiled, then hugged him to show there were no hard feelings.

Then benefit gala for the Foundation had been a rousing success, earning buckets of money and so many donations for the store that they'd needed to use one of the electronic warehouses to contain the overflow. Remington's heated gaze had rested on Laura - dressed in a black and white beaded, strapless sheath that hugged her trim form – throughout the evening, often drawing a tint of color to her cheeks. She'd been positively… itchy… for more than a week, but with the will exhibited during the first four years of their relationship, she firmly staunched the desire to act on her renewed sex drive… at least, here and now.

She already knew the perfect occasion on which to renew their once sizzling physical relationship.

* * *

Sophie stepped out of the chauffer driven car, and stared up in awe at Ashford Castle, where it stood in all its elegant, historic splendor before her. The past twenty hours had been one new experience after another for the four-year-old: her first vacation; her first flight; her first endless drive through wide-open verdant countryside, the fields dotted with sheep; and, now, a castle that belonged to her very own family.

"So, what do you think, Soph?" Laura asked, stooping down next to her small daughter after stepping from the car.

"Are me and Livvie princesses?" she asked, wondrously. Laura gave her daughter's blonde braid a fond tug and laughed softly.

"Afraid not," she grinned. Sophie let out a puff of breath and turned to study that house with rapt concentration. Her face brightened, as the answer came to her.

"Is Da a king?" she breathed the question. Laura's eyes shifted to the man himself, as he stepped out of the second car, Holt's carrier on his arm, and turned to assist Olivia out.

"Only in his fondest of dreams," she answered, drolly. Remington laughed warmly at the remark, while Laura returned her attention to Sophie. "Your Da is what they call an Earl. I am a Countess. The people here will call Da 'My Lord' or 'Your Lordship' while I'll be called 'My Lady' or 'Your Ladyship.'"

"Will me, Livvie and Holt have new names, too?" To her, the surprises in this new life of hers never seemed to end.

"Oh, I imagine you and Livvie will be called 'Little Lady Steele' quite a lot," she began, only to have Livvie race over, and grabbing Sophie by the hand, dragged her towards the entrance to the castle.

"C'mon, Soph!" Livvie urged, excitedly. Despite her young age, Olivia had many good memories of days of laughter within the walls of the castle. Stepping to her side, Remington took Laura's hand in his and they followed behind the girls.

"Sophie seems none the worse for wear," he observed. Given her prior response, not very long ago, to too many changes in her life over too short a time, they'd both been concerned she might be overwhelmed by the days ahead. After all, in less than a three week period they'd stay in three different countries, in three different homes, with a myriad of people new to her in each of those locales.

"I think she's too excited to realize there's anything for her to worry over," she answered, optimistically.

"And yourself?" he wondered. She hadn't had a downward spell in a handful of days now and he'd quietly harbored his own concerns that all the disruption of their routines combined with a healthy dose of jetlag might conspire to send her spiraling. She gave him a reassuring smile, and squeezed his hand, gently.

"I'm _fine."_

The door to the castle was swung open before they'd even had a chance to knock.

"'is Lordship and 'er Ladyship are on premises," Mickeline called out, then focused his full attention on Olivia as she danced around with excitement before him. He bowed, regally, as her gales of laughter bounced off gleaming wood walls and polished marble floors. "A good afternoon to ye, Little Lady Steele," he greeted.

"Good afternoon," she mimicked, while performing a wobbly curtsey.

"'N who 'ave we 'ere?" The question was directed to Livvie, although Mickeline's eyes shifted to Sophie.

"That's Sophie," Olivia pointed.

"Ah, as I live 'n' breathe, it's da newest Little Lady Steele 'erself," he exclaimed. "Remind me o' a fairy fresh from da glen, ye do, with yer golden hair 'n' green eyes. A good afternoon to ye, Little Lady Steele," he greeted her as well, bowing again.

"You haved to curry, Sophie," Livvie instructed. "Like this."

"'Have to curt-sey,'" Laura corrected.

"Like this." Livvie demonstrated, blithely ignoring the correction. Sophia imitated the demonstrated act, her own giggles joining Livvie's contagious laughter.

"Hi, Mickeline," Laura greeted warmly, stepping forward to give the older man a hug.

"Iffin' I might say so, yer Ladyship, yer lovely than ever," he complimented.

"Been kissing that Blarney Stone again, Mickeline?" she teased. "You're looking well."

"Never felt better," he replied, taking her coat.

"How goes business?" Remington inquired, as he handed his coat to the man as well.

"Couldn't be better, Yer Lordship. Full 'ouse for months ta come."

Mickeline and Remington had a brief discussion regarding business as the family and he walked up the staircase to where the rooms for the master and his family remained exclusively their own, whether or not they were in residence.

"'earing 'ow yer family 'as expanded, we 'ad to work rather quickly. I 'ope the rooms will be satisfactory," Mickeline offered as he swung open the door to Olivia's nursery.

Only to discover it was now Holt's exclusively. The walls had been freshly painted a soothing shade of blue, the lace curtains replaced with a blue and black tartan plaid, and the white crib removed in favor of a more masculine dark oak. A handmade comforter hanging over the side of the crib matched both drapes and bumper and a mobile that sported airplanes hung over the crib.

"It's lovely, Mickeline," Laura praised, stooping down to release Holt from his carrier, then placing him in the crib, where he happily kicked his little legs and cooed. "It would appear he approves," she laughed.

"'e's a strappin' lad, isn't 'e?" Mickeline observed, as he peeked over the side of the crib, "'n' the very image of yerself, Yer Lordship, iffin' I do say so meself." Remington merely grinned as he turned on the baby monitor and picked up the handset before following Mickeline, Laura and the girls to the room directly next door.

"'N' fer the Little Ladies," he swung open the door, "A room fer a pair o' princesses," he announced grandly.

"They're princess beds!" Livvie screeched with delight, racing into the room to climb on top of the canopied bed furthest from the door.

"For us?" Sophie whispered, wide-eyed, as she stroked a reverent hand over the delicately embroidered bedspread.

"It is, indeed," Mickeline confirmed. Sophie turned confused eyes towards her mother.

"But you said we weren't princesses, Mommy," she reminded Laura. Laura leaned back to rest lightly against Remington when he slipped a hand around her waist from behind.

"Well, it seems that maybe you are, when you're here," she smiled.

* * *

Laura stepped back and surveyed her handiwork.

The master bed chamber was swathed in the warm glow of candle light cast by the dozens of candles lit throughout . A fire burned in the hearth, the covers of the bed were turned down and the pillows were fluffed. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket, and a pair of crystal flutes sat on the bedside table already partway filled with the golden, bubbly beverage. Giving the setting a nod of approval, she turned and looked in the mirror, nervously stroking her hands down her sides.

She'd planned this evening carefully. After all, where better to revive their physical relationship than the very place where it had begun, here at Ashford Castle. The ambiance she wanted to create had been the easiest part of her plan, what to wear the most difficult.

She'd considered a sultry red little number of lace and satin, that left very little to the imagination. Red was, after all, the color the man in the shower most appreciated on her, and the outfit was both playful and seductive, meant to encourage pure, uninhibited sex. For that reason, alone, it was cast aside, as it set the wrong tone, in her mind, for both the occasion and the setting. A slew of outfits were discarded for similar reasons: The black little number suggested dominance, and as much as she enjoyed having him at her mercy, it, too was the wrong tone. The pale pink set was too demure, the black and white outfit suggested sex-just-for-the-sake-of-it-sex, and the cream set was too bland.

Finally, she'd settled on all white. What better color, after all, to commemorate the consummation of their vows, here in this very room, five years before.

Outfit settled upon, all the focus had switched to her hair. Up or down? Allow the curls to remain free, or should she straighten it, so that the silken strands draped around them, when she leaned down to kiss him? She'd finally decided on loosely pulled back and straight.

Yes, she'd exacted each detail of her plan with precision, yet that did nothing to stop the riot of butterflies in her stomach.

She looked over her shoulder as the bathroom door opened and Remington stepped out, wearing nothing more than a pair of silk pajama pants and a towel around his neck, the ends of which he was using to scrub dry his hair.

A smile lifted her lips as he came to an abrupt stop, his surprised blue eyes drinking in every bit of her image.

He'd spent ten minutes in the shower, leaning against a hand pressed to the shower stall wall, sternly lecturing heart and body that despite where they were, what this place meant to he and Laura, nothing more than a few chaste kisses before bedtime was in the offing. Only when he had himself fully under control did he attend to cleaning himself, and, even then, it had take a few deep breaths before he was able to swing open the door and stroll into the bedroom in a manner which appeared casual and placed no pressure upon Laura.

And now, here he stood, frozen in place, staring at the vision before him. _Lovely, positively lovely._ The simple white satin shift was held up by spaghetti straps at her shoulders, the hem coming to a rest at the top of her thighs, where white garters extended downwards, holding in place the translucent, white, silk stockings encasing her shapely legs. Her long, straight hair was clipped to a single side with a bow, accented by clear rhinestones, the outfit completed with a pair of white stilettos with a matching bow at the back of each heel.

Despite the long lecture only minutes before, his body flamed to life.

"You're beautiful, Laura," he managed to compliment, in a voice hoarse with need. She nibbled at her lower lip as she approached him, then lay her hands against his chest as she peered up at him with warm, brown eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," she lifted her brows and added pointedly, "Big guy." He swallowed… hard, and tried to be a gentleman, he really did.

"You don't have to—" he stumbled over the words, when she pressed up on her tiptoes and began to drop a series of soft kisses along his bare shoulder. Clearing his throat, he tried again, even as his hands helplessly clutched at her slim waist. "You don't have to do this, just because of where we are, love." Her fingers played in the mat of hair on his chest, as her lips made an upward journey along his neck. Goosebumps raced over his skin in answer.

"I've wanted to do this for a week," she murmured against his neck, between each touch of her lips to his skin. "I forced myself to wait…" She leaned her head back and looked at him, a hand sliding over his shoulder to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, "…until tonight." His eyes examined her face, but he remained resolutely unmoving. She pulled out the big guns. "I want to make love with you, sweetheart."

His careful control snapped at the words, and he was suddenly all motion, one hand slipping over her hip, clenching a cheek of her bum, pressing her body firmly against his as the other hand cupped the back of her neck, drawing her lips upwards to his. In a single movement, his hand left her bottom, and he swept her feet off the floor, carrying her to the bed. He fed on her sweet taste as he lowered her down, their lips finally parting, as he stretched out atop her. He palmed her cheeks in his.

"I need you, love," he told her, gruffly. She stroked a hand down his back, smiling as he arched into her touch, while closing his eyes and shuddering.

"Look at me, Remington," she quietly demanded. His eyes opened as his chest rose and fell rapidly. "I need you, too."

The words were music to his ears. But he wanted to take his time about it… wanted to hear her soft cries, her tender words of love… wanted to have her writhing beneath him, to feel her body quaking against his as he pitched her over the edge time and again. But he hadn't anticipated his body's response to her and he was battling for control before he'd removed the first piece of clothing from her lovely frame.

Not another single action could have restored her confidence as fully as that did. She pressed her palms against his shoulders. Chest heaving, eyes glazed with a desire, he couldn't find the strength to refuse her the silent request. He rolled to his back, groaned aloud as she kneeled between his legs and eased his pants down, then tossed them away.

With a lascivious smile, she grasped his erection in her hand, her eyes staying with his as she bent down and took drew her tongue up his hardened length, then took the cap into her mouth. It hadn't taken much. It had been too long, he wanted her too much. She knew how to touch him, where to touch him. Before long he buried his hand in her hair, groaned her name, a warning he was close. She stayed with him, savoring his flavor, lapping and swallowing until, with a final shudder, he stilled.

And then, she was at his mercy. His hands roamed, plucked, teased and caressed. His mouth wandered, teeth nipped, lips suckled and kissed. He brought her to climax first by hand, then by mouth, and only when she was hovering at the brink for a third time, did he flip to his back, holding her by the hips as she eased herself over top of him to straddle his hips.

She leaned down and kissed him, tenderly, thoroughly, her hands caressing his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, until his hips bucked in a silent plea. She shifted, taking the tip of his shaft inside of her body, enveloping him fully in her hot, wet depths only a few strokes later. This time, it was she that couldn't hold back. He tugged her down to him, wrapped his arms around her, pumping his hips.

"Sin é, mo ghrá. Lig sin tarlú," he encouraged, as she broke, dragging his shaft high inside. He ground his teeth together, fought to keep her from taking him with her.

She grumbled her discontent when he shifted his hips, pulling out of her. Then, he was rolling them, until they lay on their sides, her back pressed to his front. Lifting her leg over his hip, he slipped back inside. She was not only particularly sensitive to the movement with her body in this position, but it left her fully open to his touch. He plucked, he teased, he caressed and stroked, until she was writhing against him.

"Remington," she gasped, her hands clutching at the sheets. His hand slipped between her legs, tapping and flicking at the swollen bud there.

"I love you, Laura," he murmured next to her ear. "Let it happen, babe."

At his words, her body arched into his. This time, he allowed her body to draw him over the edge with her. Holding her body tightly to his, he buried his face in her hair, surrounding himself in the scent of honeysuckle, grass and sunshine.

Afterwards, they lay still connected, bodies pressed tight. He took her hand in his, and for long minutes, lost in the aftermath and thought, their fingers idly tangled, untangled, then tangled again.

"I love you, too, you know," she announced quietly, breaking the silence. He slipped away from her, waited until she turned to lay on her side, facing him now. A pair of fingers lifted her chin until their eyes came together.

"I know, mo chuisle," he answered, with utter conviction then bent his head to give her a sweet kiss. When their lips parted, he eased her closer. "Get some sleep while you can, love," he murmured against the top of her head. She laughed a throaty little laugh in reply.

"I don't think I'm the one we have to worry about keeping up," she teased lightly. Aghast, he drew his head back, and looked down at her.

"Are you calling me… _old?_ " She shrugged a shoulder.

"Well, you _are_ starting to grey," she drew out the words, feigning solemnity. His head reared back even further.

"I've begun to do no such thing," he denied, vehemently. She widened her eyes, as though shocked he hadn't known.

"It's only a few strands, Mr. Steele," she pretended to comfort, as she reached up and fingered the hair at his left temple. "I actually find it _very—"_ She smothered her impending laugh when he launched himself for the bedroom.

"I'm not yet thirty-nine," he protested. Pressing up on an elbow she enjoyed the view of his retreating form. When he disappeared from view, she pushed herself fully up to sit upon her knees, her lips quivering with suppressed laughter, debating if it was a cheap shot, but quickly decided the assault upon his vanity had been too much fun to pass up. "Should I start now, I'll be positively white by the time I'm Father's age," he continued to speak to her, as he fingered through his hair while looking in the mirror. "And look at him, barely a grey hair to be found at fifty-eight, so one might think…" His words trailed off as he heard what sounded suspiciously like a muffled giggle. Indignantly, he stalked to the entrance to the bedroom, his eyes narrowing and his lips thinning when he found Laura, palm pressed to mouth, shoulders jerking with laughter. He walked towards the bed, scowling with disapproval. "You're a cruel woman, Mrs. Steele," he accused.

"Like taking a lolly from a child still in their nappies," she answered around her laughter, purposefully using one of his favored euphemisms. His laughter joined her own, as he lunged onto the bed, his arm around her waist pulling her down with him. He shifted, so he lie partially across her body.

"I'll show you old," he threatened, playfully, with a lift and a waggle of his brows.

"Just try to keep up," she challenged, then dragged his head down and kissed him.


	43. Chapter 43: In Her Own Time

Chapter 43: In Her Own Time

"Pappouli!" Olivia called out joyfully, running towards the short, stout man, her arms outstretched. Marcos caught her in his arms and swung her upwards for a hug.

The Steele's had arrived in Oia mid-afternoon, well past lunch and naptime for a pair of little girls who'd quickly grown cranky after the novelty of the ferry had worn off. Laura and Remington had immediately reassessed and decided their arrival at the Androkus home could be postponed while they had lunch, and the girls got a bit of a kip. Elena had seen to it the pantry and refrigerator were fully stocked, so it had taken little effort to prepare a light lunch of a selection of fruits, cheeses, meats and crackers.

While the girls napped, Remington volunteered to see to Holt's feeding. Laura had gratefully noted the box she'd requested had sat waiting on the coffee table in the dining room when they'd arrived. A touch weary herself, she, never the less, went through all their luggage, extracting the endless gifts from Thomas and Catherine and packing them in the box.

She and Remington had recognized the Hanover Terrace was no longer suitable for their growing family. They didn't fancy the idea of the girls sleeping two floors away, and the only yard for the girls in which to play was the park across the street. Thus, they'd taken up residence at Hardwick House, the Fitzgerald ancestral home which happened to be tied to Remington's entitlements as the current Earl of Claridge. In the twenty-six room estate, extra… "stuff"... made little difference in terms of space, but here in their cozy three-room house on Oia? Maximizing their use of space was essential. Thus, by the time they arrived at the Androkus home, the box was packed, taped and addressed so that Mikos could post it the following day.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she found herself swept up into a bear hug, before a kiss landed on each cheek and a pair of beefy hands took her face in their palms. Marcos searched her face, and whatever it was he saw there, had him nodding in approval.

"Ah, it will do Elena's heart well to see for herself our Lara and Xenos have weathered well the excitement of this year," Marcos noted, in his perennially booming voice. "And now, you've gifted us with two more grandchildren to love." At the mention of children, Laura scanned the room looking for their two eldest.

"Speaking of children…" she said aloud, "Where have ours gone?" Marcos eased Holt from Remington's arms.

"A fine boy," Marcos complimented, as Holt reached for the man's face.

"Livvie dragged Sophie away," Remington answered Laura, "To meet the cousins I imagine."

"Come, we shall rescue them before Elena smothers them in her excitement," Marcos laughed a bellicose laugh, making Holt first startle then coo upwards at the jolly man who was holding him.

Despite the fact the family had arrived en masse, Remington and Laura could see Marcos's prediction had born itself out, as Elena had Olivia on her lap, and was lavishing her with kisses, hugs and the occasional pinch of the cheek. Livvie animatedly answered Elena's questions, pleased as punch to be the center of attention, while Sophie was content to stand by and simply watch. Laura watched the scene with a drawn pair of brows. First Marcos, then Elena had made no attempt to introduce themselves to the little girl.

Marcos caught the look upon her face, and made it a point to ease her worry.

"This is our way, Lara," he told her, drawing her eyes to his. "Melina has explained to Elena and I that your Sophia is fearful of new people. We do not wish to overwhelm her. She will come to us in her own time and then she will know the love of her Pappouli and Ya-Ya, you may be certain." Laura's face crinkled in apology.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—" He reached for her hand with his free one.

"It is good that you protect her so," Marcos interrupted. "She will be all the more secure for it. Don't allow you heart to worry. She will find her way." With a slap on her shoulder that lurched her half a step forward, he left the Steele's side to present Elena with her newest grandson, allowing the now fidgety Livvie to sidle down from her lap. Grabbing Sophie's hand, their raven-haired daughter raced off to play with the cousins.

"Oh, my Xenos, looking at him is like seeing the memory of the child you once were come to life," Elena told Remington, with tears glistening in her eyes. His lips quirked upwards in a partial smile.

"I do believe I was much older than Holt during those days. Much may still change," he reminded. Elena clucked her tongue at him, then looked across the terrace to where Olivia played.

"As it has with our Olivia? No, Xenos," she disagreed, standing with Holt still in her arm to lay a palm upon her son's cheek, "Watching him as he grows will be a glimpse of you at each of the ages. He is my second chance, because this time I will be there to see." His heart clenched at the words and he was rendered speechless. Even after all these years he was left gobsmacked when he was reminded of how they'd mourned his lost for nearly a decade before he'd reappeared on the doorstep.

"As will I," Laura blithely stepped into the conversation. "I see so much of him in Olivia – and her in him – I can't even imagine what it will be like watching Holt." Her words stirred the memory of when he'd once wished for a daughter who looked just like Laura, so that he could do the same.

"See, our Lara agrees," Elena cooed, patting him on the cheek. "Now, go greet your brothers, Xenos. Their eyes bore holes through me as they wait for me to finish my greetings. Go. See what it is they wish to speak to you of." She shooed him off with a hand, then bid Laura to sit next to her. "Laura, you and I will have a chat."

With a kiss to Elena's cheek, he crossed the terrace to greet his brothers as directed. Christos greeted him with a hearty swat on the back, with enough force behind it, Remington swayed on his feet.

"You've been busy, big brother, bringing not one, but two new grandchildren home to Mama this year," Christos ribbed. "Zeth, should I recall correctly, wasn't it Xen who said he had no interest in competing with us in this regard?" Although considerably shorter than his brothers, Zeth was the eldest of the Androkus children. He leaned back against the terrace wall, and scratched at his chin as though giving the question grave consideration.

"Hmm. Yes, I believe it was," he concurred. "How is it, then, that he's given Mama triple the grandchildren in the last three years than you and I have combined?" Remington held up both his hands, as though in surrender.

"Yes, yes, that's all true enough, although it was never our intent," he pointed out. "While Holt was planned," he pointed a finger at Zeth, "Sophie was an unexpected blessing. But, unlike the two of you, Laura and I are of a like mind: We're content in what we have, we want no more."

"Pay up," Zeth turned to Christos, holding out his hand. With a glower directed towards his confused brother, Christos reached into his pocket then slapped a bill into Zeth's palm.

"Pay up?" Remington questioned, with the raise of a suspicious brow.

"Christos was certain you'd wish to have at least one more, to round things out," Zeth shared, "While I said, "While I said it was a bloody miracle you had two, let alone three." Remington chuckled.

"Why ever would we want more? Although we're already outnumbered should the three decided to turn on us all at once," he remarked, "We've at least a chance _one_ can be swayed our way. With that swarm of yours," this time it was Christos who received the jarring slap on the shoulder this time, "Even if you manage to sway one, you're still outnumbered. I prefer my odds." He turned his head and looked around the terrace, a thought occurring to him. "Speaking of outnumbered, has Lina not yet arrived?"

"Calista, Helena _and_ Lina are off in the kitchen gossiping under the guise of helping to prepare the meal," Christos supplied. "Lina arrived last evening and regaled us with tales of her life in LA. I must say, Xen, none of us ever thought you'd pitch our little sister to the wolves, as she seems to suggest that you have." Remington blinked hard and then shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowing on his brother in confusion.

"While I've done _what?_ " he asked incredulously. "I've not done anything of the sort," he denied, then demanded to know "What in the bloody hell is she speaking about?" Remington turned his eyes to Zeth for an answer when Christos began to laugh and waved him off.

"It would seem this attorney you've hired for your foundation has made it a point to make things… difficult… for our little sister," Zeth told him, his tone implying the claim was nothing more than an exaggeration by the often dramatic Melina.

"Well, that has nothing to do with me. I've never even met the man."

"Xenos," Helena greeted with a buss to his cheek, before she joined Christos at his side. "Who is it you've never met?"

"Zeth, meet your soon-to-be Godson," Calista told her husband, passing Holt to him.

"This attorney Lina seems to have been carrying on about," Remington informed Helena on Christos' behalf.

"Carry on?" Melina asked from behind Remington as she approached. She stepped to Remington and greeted him with a hug. "The man is pompous, overbearing, inflexible, irr—"

"And who is it that interviewed the man and hired the man?" Remington challenged, leveling a hard look upon her.

"That is not the point," she huffed, averting her head. "What do you think of your newest Godson?" she directed the question to Zeth and Calista.

"The hell it's not given it seems you've been carrying on about how difficult _I've_ made your life in hiring the man," he protested. "Who is it that interviewed and hired the man, Lina?"

"Jocelyn and I," she sniffed, indignantly, "But again, that is hardly the point. The man—"

"Telling tales, have you been, Melina?" a voice from behind the group inquired. Melina's spine stiffened and she scrunched her face with dread. But a great defense is the best offense, at least in Melina's eyes at the moment. She spun on her heel and plunked her hands on her hips.

"I believe Papa has warned you about turning meals into your personal hunting ground, has he not, Ioseph?" she demanded.

"It is neither mealtime nor am I attempting to elicit information," Ioseph pointed out. "Tell me Lina, have you been attending church, seeking the grace of the confessional regularly these last months?" Panic widened her eyes and she looked at Remington for help. He held up a hand, stopping her before she asked.

"Surely you don't wish me to rescue you, after impugning my good name by implying I… How was it Chris put it?" he pretended to ponder. "Ah, yes, I am 'pitching you to the wolves.'" Melina's face lost a little color at the words. Her eyes flickered to her brothers and sister-in-laws one at a time, finding no help in those quarters. Sell one another out to Ioseph, they might, but none were so foolish as to encourage Ioseph's attention to fall upon themselves.

"Shall I remind Tia Elena a trip to the confessional—"

"I'll be there," Lina huffed, unable to smother the urge to stomp a foot.

"Elena's asked that everyone come to the tables," Laura announced , as she joined the group. She glanced around at the five amused faces, the one petulant face and the remaining smug one. "What did I miss?" Her husband raised a brow at her.

"Melina being caught in the snare of her own making," he shared. "Apparently I've made her life difficult in hiring the attorney I did for the Foundation." Her brows furrowed in puzzlement, and she looked at Melina.

"But Xen didn't hire the attorney, you and Jocelyn did."

"Hence why she has drawn Ioseph's attentions," he summarized. Laura couldn't smother the snicker that passed her lips.

"Children! Όλοι σας περιμένουμε. The meal waits for you to join us," Elena called the admonishment. Without a question amongst them, all seven adults joined the dining tables.

Even a family-only dinner meant a loud, boisterous affair. After all, how could it not when it involved more than a dozen and a half adults, who still managed to be outnumbered by the children present. Both Laura and Melina kept a careful eye on Sophie throughout the meal – and the evening – assuring she was not finding the cacophony around her overwhelming. From time-to-time throughout the meal, Sophie had arrived at Laura or Lina's side, seeking a gentle touch of reassurance that this was an event to be enjoyed, not feared.

"Our Olivia," Marcos noted on one such occasion, "Has an adventurous soul. Our Sophia, on the other hand, has a gentle, cautious soul. It will bear them well as they complement one another. Unlike our Christos and Xen who were far too alike, always searching out trouble and finding it." His laughter boomed across the terrace, as the others joined in.

"Tell us," Calista requested, quickly looking over her shoulder to confirm the children were not paying attention, "How is it you Sophia came to you?"

"Ahhh, Lina was too busy complaining about the hardships she faces at the office to share the story, then?" Remington needled. Lina glowered at him and crossed her arms in response, while Laura reached over and lay a hand on his arm, telling him silently to let the teasing rest until anothe _r day_.

"A former client of ours…" Laura began.

* * *

"I think Lina likes the man," Laura commented, as she slipped into bed next to Remington that evening. His disbelieving laugh filled the room, as she nuzzled her head into that spot beneath his shoulder.

"She can't abide by the man, Laura," he disagreed. "Apparently she's gone on endlessly about the number of ways he drives her mad. He's pompous, arrogant—"

"I once knew a man," she interrupted thoughtfully, "Of whom I'd speak similarly. He was arrogant, impulsive, reckless, and _constantly_ intruding on my life, both at work and at home. He routinely took my carefully constructed, orderly plans and turned them upside down, mostly for his own amusement. He was impossibly handsome… and worse, he knew it."

"Why do I suddenly feel an incessant need to apologize?" he wondered aloud, shifting his head to look down at her. She patted a placating hand against his chest.

"The _point_ , Mr. Steele, is that sometimes the people who drive us the _craziest_ are the very people destined to change our lives."

"For the better?" he asked, fishing, she knew, for a compliment.

"Depends on the day, Mr. Steele, depends on the day…"

Laughing, warm and deep, he shifted beneath her and tugged her closer.

* * *

"So," Ioseph clapped his hands together in unhidden zeal, "Need I remind you what is expected of each of you should you wish me to baptize the children?"

"Nice to see some things never change, Ioseph," Remington remarked, making no attempt to hide his derision. "Still using the confessional to—" Laura laid her hand on his thigh, stopping the potentially volatile statement before he was finished.

"Let's just get to it? What do you say?" she suggested to both men, with a wide, faked smile on her face. In her eyes, the sooner they were out of Ioseph's office, the better, as long stays tended to conclude not in their favor. "I'll start. Since the last time we were here, lemme think… I've stolen a painting, twice; I've lied to Xenos… a few times; I've kept things from him, which I'm sure you consider a lie by omission." She tapped a finger against her chin, in thought. "I considered asking a friend to rig the results of Sophia's paternity test, and although I didn't, I did have the same friend delay them. Oh, and I wished Gabriel Castoro dead on many an occasion." Remington's head snapped in her direction. He couldn't even fathom her being pushed to the point where she'd wish such a thing.

"You did?" he asked in disbelief. She held up a hand and dropped it. "And you didn't?" He wobbled his head.

"Well…" He didn't deny the charge. She nodded towards Ioseph. "You're up, Xenos." Remington faced Ioseph.

"What she said, except for the bit about the paternity tests. " He frowned. "Although I knew she was going to, in both cases." He held up a finger. "Ah, yes, and then a small matter of breaking and entering."

"When?" Laura asked. He turned her again.

"Jill's apartment," he replied. She shook her head.

"No, you were _going to_ , but Castoro's men were there and the door was open," she reminded.

"She's correct. Strike that last part." His eyes skimmed over Laura's slim frame. "And add lustful thoughts. Many, many… lustful… thoughts." He grinned when Laura's skin pinked. Ioseph sat back in his chair, not the least bit amused.

"I'd expect you to make a mockery of reconciliation, Xenos," the priest's eyes shifted to Laura, "But not you."

" _I'm_ not mocking reconciliation," Laura dissented. "I was _just_ trying to be expedient."

"We've done this dance once before, should you recall, Ioseph," Remington interjected. "If we hide anything, try to defend ourselves in _any_ way, then you refuse to perform the baptism and Elena is left beside herself, lest we come to heel. So, here we are, willingly fessing up all."

Ioseph narrowed his eyes upon the couple.

* * *

That night, Laura flopped down on her back next to Remington, a smile lighting her face.

"Five years. For the first time in five years, _you_ received more penance than I," she marveled.

"Only because you left me out on a limb, quite by myself," he huffed. He, too, lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, clasped hands lying on his stomach.

"Tell me, Mr. Steele, would you have preferred I admitted to having lustful feelings…" she rolled to her knees, then straddled his hips. Softly, she scraped her nails down his chest then over his abdomen "…or to show you, just…" she leaned down to press a kiss to his neck "…how…" to his jaw "…lustful those thoughts are?" then his lips. He threaded his fingers into her hair, keeping her close.

"I don't think I have to tell you how I rely on deeds…"

* * *

On Saturday evening, Thomas and Catherine arrived on Island Santorini to celebrate both the baptism of two of their grandchildren and Laura and Remington's fifth anniversary. Abigail had begged off two days before, as she was battling off a case of summertime bronchitis and flying would have just been too taxing. A second anniversary party would be held after they returned to LA, so their family and friends, stateside, could celebrate with them as well.

The morning of the baptism arrivde bright and clear, the clear skies encouraging the sun to spread its rays over the Aegean, making it appear the water was sparkling with jewels. The Androkus house was busy, in the hours before church, as a dazzling array of aunts and cousins appeared to assist in preparing the house for the baptismal celebration. Countless pots of Casablanca lilies decorated the upper and lower terraces; tables were covered in crisp, white cloths then crystal vases filled with Calla lilies were set in the center of each table. Buffet tables were similarly covered then bedecked with more vases of lilies, along with two, large, silver bowls into which attendees would, in Greek tradition, drop a crisp white envelope with undisclosed sums of monies inside – gifts for the children who'd been blessed.

The ceremony had been touching and efficient, the celebration large and lively. As the day wound down, and a dazzling sunset colored the sky, Marcos joined Laura and Remington. Eager for a few minutes alone after fielding hours of well-wishes, Remington had sat on the low-slung stone wall of the terrace, before easing Laura back to stand between his legs. He rested his chin upon her shoulder as they talked in low tones while watching over the children.

Marcos nodded his head towards a spot across the terrace where Elena sat, rocking a sleepy Sophie, while, nearby, Olivia rested her head against Thomas's chest and sucked a pair of fingers.

"In her own time," he noted, his eyes upon Sophie. Laura smiled as she stroked Remington's forearm and hand. Sophia had, indeed, come around, much as Marcos had predicted. She'd first tested the waters with Elena, whose warmth, gentleness and firm guidance was a natural draw to children. Marcos had followed, and his gregarious, boisterous nature had simply charmed the little girl. Now, Sophie rarely needed reassurance that all was well and she happily intermingled with all members of the family.

Could one blame her? The Androkus family oozed warmth, love and security.

"In her own time," Laura acknowledged.

"Life has taught our Sophie many cruelties at so young an age," Marcos observed, "But she has a heart that yearns to trust, wishes to love and be loved. In you she finds this, and soon _she_ will _blossom_." He said the last word loudly, jovially, as he flung his arms up to the heavens and smiled. "She is fortunate to have you." He patted their joined hands.

Laura couldn't help but reflect on how Sophie had come to them, and all that had happened since. They'd survived a madman's attack upon their family and she'd survived a life-threatening complication of her pregnancy. They'd rid themselves of a blackmailer. They'd looked the postpartum depression in the eye and had beaten it back. They'd made masterful work of damaging their marriage with their failure to communicate and misunderstandings, but now were stronger than ever.

She laughed softly, not realizing she'd done so aloud, drawing the eyes of the two men nearby her.

They'd even survived Livvie's broken arm… and Remington had survived running each evening, although he complained and fussed intermittently all along the way.

And Sophie had become their daughter, in far more than just name.

Several times, over the years, Remington had remarked to her that she and the children were his whole world. Now, with a mental shake of her head, she disagreed with what Marcos had said.

"I don't think that's true," she mused aloud. "We're surrounded by friends and family," she held out a hand towards the people milling around, "We have a thriving business; a beautiful new home; two beautiful, remarkable children born to us; and, this beautiful, bewildered and _loving_ little girl… Sophie… who's just made our lives all the more full." She squeezed Remington's hand and tilted her head back to look up at him. "We have the whole world at our fingertips. _We're_ the lucky ones." Eyes filling with emotion, Remington leaned down and touched his lips to hers, Marcos and the rest of the family, be damned. He wondered if words such as those she'd just said would ever make his heart stop pounding wildly. When their lips parted, she turned back around. He nuzzled his chin against the top of her head, and tightened his arms about her.

"That we are, Mrs. Steele. That we are.


	44. Epilogue

Epilogue

 _September 1994_

"Mommy watch!" called six-year-old Livvie.

"Remember to point your toes," Laura called back. Olivia and Sophia had come home from the last day of first grade some three months before, begging to be signed up for gymnastics camp that summer. The two-week day camp had offered a combination of gymnastics' instruction and the normal camp offerings of swimming, art, and plenty of outdoor play time. The girls had been instantly hooked, and since then had added twice weekly gymnastics lessons to their twice weekly dance class.

She watched as Olivia executed a nearly perfect combination of a cartwheel into a round off.

"Great job, Livvie!" she praised, as Livvie ran over to join her and Holt, where they sat on the beach making a sandcastle together. Livvie peered into a bucket and made a quick decision.

"I'll get more water," she announced, then stood and ran towards the surf with the bucket in hand.

"Alright, Sophie, let's see what you've got," Laura yelled to seven-year-old Sophie.

With a running start, the slim blonde performed a three-part combination of cartwheel, round off, and backbend.

"Wonderful, Soph!" Laura praised. "Next time bring your core up just a touch higher on the backbend."

"Okay, Mommy," Sophie agreed, easily. While constructive criticism could, at times, make Livvie cross, Sophie genuinely appreciated it. Both girls were extremely competitive, in their own very different ways: Olivia like to compete against others, and win; whereas, Sophie liked to compete against herself. Kneeling down next to her mother in the sand, Sophie reached for a shovel to help pack a bucket of wet sand. "Can we practice some more after lunch?"

"We'll see. But first, lunch, nap," she ruffed Holt's dark hair, "chores and quiet time." Three-year-old Holt looked up at his mother and smiled. Unlike the girls, Holt appreciated a good nap.

"Hello, Laura," a deep, masculine voice greeted from behind. Laura's spine stiffened and her heart quickened, the intrusion unexpected, and most unwanted. Pressing her hand to the top of her head, to keep the wind from blowing off her sunhat, she turned and faced the man. Her pulse raced and her breathing turned shallow.

She turned away from the man and called to the children.

"Girls, Da should be just about done making lunch. Take your brother up to the house, please, and let Da know I'll be there as soon as I finish talking with…" she struggled for something that would pass as plausible but would serve as a signal to Remington as well "…this salesman," she finished, lamely, lamenting her inability to think coherently.

"Alright, Mommy," Sophie replied, then taking Holt by the hand began walking to the stairs that would take them upwards to the house. Livvie caught up before Sophie swung open the gate. Laura crossed an arm in front of herself, still holding on to her hat with the other hand.

"How did you find me?" she asked the man, coolly, her eyes flicking back and forth, monitoring the children's progress.

"You and your husband have been in the papers enough over the years," he answered, then shrugged. "I followed you here from Century Towers one day. I've been just waiting for… the right opportunity…" he shrugged again "…to come along." Her face a mask of icy calm, she tilted up her chin a notch, and gave a slow shake of her head.

"And the 'right opportunity' has never come along before now?" The man worried his hands in front of him.

"That's a complicated question," he noted. "Laura—"

"You shouldn't have bothered," she cut him off, her chin going up yet another notch as she shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remington appear at the top of the stairs, then look down to the beach for her. Spotting her and the man together, he swung open the gate and began to descend the stairs.

"it would appear he's as perceptive as the papers say he is," the man observed, turning to look at whatever it was that had caught her eye. She turned to look at him again.

"He is," she confirmed. "I would say thanks for stopping by, but…" she let the words trail off suggestively.

"Laura, if you'll—" She held up a hand with another shake of her head, this one adamant.

"I'm not interested," she ground out, turning enough to see Remington closing the distance across the sand. "My family's just preparing to sit down to lunch, so if you don't mind…" she held a hand out towards the direction of the public access stairs some quarter of a mile away. _Private beach, be damned,_ she fumed.

"if you'd just give me a chance to—"

"You had your chance," she snapped, feeling Remington's presence behind her now, "And you made your choice." Spinning on her heel, she began to walk towards the stairs, Remington automatically falling into place at her side and laying a hand on the small of her back, as he glanced back at the man who seemed somehow familiar.

"You always were the stubborn one, weren't you, Champ?" the man called after her. She abruptly stopped walking, catching Remington off guard and making him stumble while he mouthed the word 'champ?' She laughed in the face of the man's audacity.

"Champ?" she asked, derisively. "Champ no longer exists. Hasn't existed since the day after my sweet sixteen." She gave her head a sharp nod. "Goodbye." With that, she continued her trek towards the stairs.

"Please," the man beseeched Remington, as he held out a piece of paper. "At least take this in case she changes her mind." Looking from him to Laura's back then back to him again, he snatched the paper from the man's hand then raced after his wife.

"Laura," he spoke as they passed through the first gate, "Was that—"

"My father."


End file.
